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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24927244">Time's Arrow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/skulls_and_stripes/pseuds/skulls_and_stripes'>skulls_and_stripes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>What Time Is It Right Now? [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>BoJack Horseman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ableism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autism, Cancer, Eating Disorders, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Self-Harm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:54:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>56,120</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24927244</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/skulls_and_stripes/pseuds/skulls_and_stripes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Kin drama." He's visibly and audibly fuming by this point. "I am high off my ass, writing the shitty scripts for this shitty movie while fighting with my husband, because of a stupid argument that started because I was having kin drama with the son of a Neo-Nazi I was friends with in the 80s." After a pause in which everybody stares at him in stunned silence, he adds, "Well, I don't know what I expected.</p><p>The sequel to "Loving That Cali Lifestyle" that literally nobody asked for, Herb and BoJack continue living in Connecticut after BoJack gets a job as a teacher, but they just can't catch a break.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>BoJack Horseman/Herb Kazzaz, Princess Carolyn/Judah Mannowdog</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>What Time Is It Right Now? [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1803790</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Ollywoo AUs</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Intermediate Nothing w/ BoJack Horseman</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is probably the first time ive ever written a bojack fic that explained what year it was without having a character say "2020, the year which it currently is" or "since its currently 2020"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He grasps the lighter with shaking hands, hating himself for it more with every second. He <em> told </em> himself that <em> this </em> would be the day he kicks the habit once and for all, and right in the ass so it won’t come back, but he’s already yelled at Herb twice today over stupid bullshit and he just <em> can’t stop shaking </em>and, well, he’s normally had at least three cigarettes by now so it’s almost a miracle he hasn’t cracked yet today.</p><p>He takes a deep breath of the resulting smoke, trying to savour it because that had <em> better </em>be his last one today. He breathes it all in until it fills his eyes, his nostrils, and his lungs that are probably thoroughly resentful of this habit by now. Then, he slams the window shut and carelessly tosses the lighter onto the bench.</p><p>He quickly glances back at the bench just to make sure he didn’t accidentally somehow set it on fire -- and consciously he knows the chances of that actually happening are probably next to nothing, but a few weeks ago he accidentally tossed it onto a piece of paper while it was still on and scared the <em> shit </em> out of Herb, and he’s been paranoid ever since. The fact that one of his formative experiences with the concept of fire was his father screaming at him for curiously picking up a lighter when he was four about how he was <em> going to set the house on fire, you goddamn stupid piece of shit, </em>probably didn’t help.</p><p>He shakes his head. He does <em> not </em>need to be thinking about his shithead dad right now, and he especially doesn’t need to be thinking about how four-year-old BoJack was such an idiot that he didn’t pop out of the womb with an in-depth understanding of what lighters were and why they were potentially dangerous. He exits the room, nearly tripping over a violin that’s leaning against the wall for some stupid goddamn reason, and goes to his room. </p><p>He opens up his laptop and starts to search around in his files, grabbing a pen and a notebook while the stupid thing loads. He finally finds the file he’s looking for, and <em> God, </em>it’s a piece of shit. The class focus is on monologues at the moment, which luckily means the students can perform in their own homes and email him a recording, but stupid-ass Tawnie couldn’t be bothered getting off her lazy ass to get a functional camera, so now BoJack just has to work his ass off trying to figure out what hand movements she’s making into her shitty iPhone camera.</p><p>No wonder she and Hollyhock are always in a fight over something or other. She seems like a pain in the ass.</p><p>He watches the video as best he can, taking notes on her performance and the content of her soliloquy, and also writing a note to himself to review the marking criteria and figure out if he’s allowed to deduct marks based on the recording quality. But then, of course, he has to be <em> brutally attacked </em> by his own sheet of paper, leaving him <em> wounded, </em>causing him to yelp aloud.</p><p>“You okay?” calls Herb from the other room. </p><p>BoJack rises to his feet, dramatically clutching his chest with the hand that he isn’t frantically shaking in an attempt to relieve the stinging. “I am <em> hurt,” </em>he moans dramatically. “A plague o’ both your houses! I am sped. Is he gone, and hath nothing?”</p><p>Herb sighs irritably. “Did you get a paper cut?”</p><p>“Ay, ay,” BoJack continues, now dramatically staggering out of his room. “A scratch, a scratch; marry, ‘tis enough. Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon.”</p><p>Herb enters his line of sight, and raises an eyebrow at him.</p><p>“...Yeah, I got a paper cut.”</p><p>“Oh my God.” BoJack, still staggering in a dramatic fashion, goes to the bathroom, and Herb pinches the bridge of his nose. <em> “Read Shakespeare with your husband, </em> they said. <em> It’ll be fun, </em>they said.”</p><p>“Hey, I’d be a shitty drama teacher if I didn’t occasionally quote Mercutio’s dying speech over a paper cut.” He opens the bathroom cabinet and digs through for the band-aids; they’re right at the back, and he has to remove several bottles of nondescript pills to find them, which he carelessly leaves on the top shelf.</p><p>"You would not. And you totally didn’t get the point of that play.”</p><p>“You’re <em> seriously </em>telling me it was a genuine love story and not a cautionary tale? They were literally fourteen years old! They’d only known each other for, like, four days when they got all emo and killed themselves.”</p><p>“It was normal for teenagers to get married back then! And you can’t tell me <em> shit </em> about how I shouldn’t ship Romeo with Juliet when you <em> literally </em>ship Tybalt with Benvolio.”</p><p>“Ugh, I just like their dynamic.” He puts the band-aid on his cut finger and then goes back to his room to discover that he was too busy pretending to be Mercutio to remember to pause the video, and the stupid thing’s finished now and he can’t remember where he was so he’ll have to watch the whole goddamn thing again. He’s just about to do that when his stupid phone starts ringing, because he just <em> can’t </em>have a moment of peace, can he?</p><p>He picks up his phone. He has a few texts from Sarah Lynn, which he puts in the small bucket of things he ignores in the hope that they’ll go away on their own, and an incoming call from Todd, which he answers. “Hey, Todd.” </p><p>“Hey!” replies Todd. “How’ve you <em>been</em> in quaran-<em>tine?”</em> He emphasises the rhyme. It’s annoying.</p><p>“Okay, first of all, it’s not quarantine until you’re actually sick. Second, ugh, it’s been the <em> worst! </em> Online classwork <em> sucks. </em> Herb’s been bored <em> and </em> his sleep schedule’s gone to shit, so he brought a violin on eBay and taught himself to terribly play songs from the eighties at three in the morning. And I feel like <em> shit </em>all the time because I’m trying to wean myself off of cigarettes.”</p><p>“Wait, you’re trying to quit?” He sounds genuinely impressed. “Woah. I have <em> never </em>seen you not smoking.”</p><p>“Yeah, I started when I was just a kid, so -- it’s been hard. And I kinda had to quit the drinking and the horse tranquilisers and all the other shitty stuff I was doing first. One thing at a time, y’know? But, it’s actually been going pretty well. I’ve only had one cigarette today and I don’t think I’ll need another one.”</p><p>“You know, I actually read online somewhere that smokers are more likely to survive if they do get COVID.”</p><p>“Eh, sounds like a shitty trade-off. ‘Congratulations, you survived the overhyped flu! Now you have cancer.’”</p><p>“COVID’s not just an <em> overhyped flu, </em> BoJack.” He sounds genuinely offended. “People are <em> dying.” </em></p><p>“So? People die from the flu.”</p><p>“Not as many people. And, you really think smoking for, what, forty years and then quitting when you’re fifty-six will stop you from getting cancer?”</p><p>“Eh, a guy’s gotta dream. Anyway, what’s been up with you? How’s isolation treating you?”</p><p>“Oh, it’s been nice. I’ve mostly just been reading absurdly specific Wikihow articles with Maude. We got a place together before the lockdown.”</p><p>“Oh, congrats! Moving in together is a <em> huge </em>thing. You end up learning a lot about the person that you sort of took for granted that you would have learned, you know?” He frowns. “Wait, Wikihow articles?”</p><p>“Yeah, a lot of them are … surprisingly entertaining. To imagine the sort of situations you’d have to be in to need them, you know? Like, ‘Oh no, I’m falling off a building! Quick, let me pull up this article on how to survive a fall from a great height?’”</p><p>“Yeah, that would have been a <em> tonne </em>of help that time I fell off a building.”</p><p>“Oh, I’ve gotta go, Maude’s just gotten this <em> great </em> idea on how to take advantage of the pandemic to make sure there is <em> no </em>blue in April. Bye!”</p><p>He hangs up before BoJack can further question it.</p><p>BoJack stares at his phone, then at his laptop, and realises he <em> really </em> doesn’t want to mark Tawnie’s stupid-ass monologue right now, but he can’t think of a good excuse not to. He considers putting it in the small bucket of things he ignores in the hope that they’ll go away on their own, but he really can’t afford to be adding more shit to that, because it’s been tiny ever since he started learning about not ignoring his problems in therapy and there are somethings that he <em> has </em>to leave there. </p><p>Then, he remembers the text messages.</p><p>He checks his messages. Sarah Lynn’s left two nonsensical messages in the groupchat that Bradley created back in goddamned 2017 for his nonsensical spin-off of <em> Horsin’ Around, </em>and that’s created a series of irritating notifications from all of them.</p><p>
  <em> Sarah Lynn: pgwih </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sarah Lynn: ignore that </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Unknown number: ??? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sarah Lynn: i was scrolling through this chat 2 find the shit i said when i was high 2 yrs ago abt how ok boomer would be a thing so i could screenshot it n shove it in ur faces and then i typed something by accident </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Joelle: oh good. does this mean we can avoid that irritating thing that happens where every time someone adds something to this groupchat, even accidentally, someone else types a bunch of unrelated messages that annoy us all? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Unknown number: Hey BoJack, I’m trying to figure out if middle child syndrome is a real thing, and since my parents broke up because of you I guess you and Herb will have to be my dads for the sake of the argument. So, what are Joelle and Sarah Lynn saved as in your contacts? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> BoJack: just their names </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Unknown number: And what am I saved as in your contacts? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> BoJack: ...just your name </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Joelle: the ellipse at the start of that sentence added nothing to the statement, but did make it seem untruthful. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Unknown number: BoJack, I have literally been asking you to save me in your contacts since 2017. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> BoJack: ok fine ill do it now </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Bradley: Have you done it yet? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> BoJack: yeah </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Bradley: Send a screenshot or I won’t believe you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> BoJack: oh my god i </em>
</p><p>
  <em> [BoJack sent an image] </em>
</p><p>
  <em> BoJack: happy now? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Bradley: Yes, I am, actually. Hey, do you think if an actor has a headcanon about their own character, it can count as canon? Or does it have to be the writer? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sarah Lynn: dude nothing the writer says is canon. evidence: all of pottermore. anyway hermione granger canonically punches terfs </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Joelle: what’s a terf? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> BoJack: eh say whatever you want but i mean. herb might try to fight you on it </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sarah Lynn: yeah ikr! i once tried to say that olivia grows up to use shitty spraytans and herb jumped down my throat about how it wasnt canon </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sarah Lynn: im realising now that that was probably because it was super shitty of me to be a dick to joelle like that </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Joelle: in your defense, they were genuinely bad spray tans. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sarah Lynn: yeah but in ur defense that was no excuse to make fun of ur eating disorder </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Joelle: honestly, part of the reason i started using the spray tans was to hide that i was always really pale because of the anemia. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> BoJack: oh i feel you.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> BoJack: i mean not anymore but i once almost passed out when i was washing the dishes. herb freaked </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Joelle: how has herb been doing, by the way? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sarah Lynn: according to all of bjs recent tweets, hes been doing terribly </em>
</p><p>
  <em> BoJack: dont call me bj </em>
</p><p>
  <em> BoJack: only herb can call me bj </em>
</p><p>
  <em> BoJack: and herbs fine?? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sarah Lynn: ok boomer </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sarah Lynn: ‘fine’ ppl do not rickroll their husbands on violin at 3am </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Bradley: Honestly, has anyone been maintaining a normal sleep schedule since we started self-isolating? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sarah Lynn: ugh i cant wait till this stupid covid thing is over. the second im allowed out im gonna hang with bojack and herb again </em>
</p><p>
  <em> BoJack: actually that might take a while </em>
</p><p>
  <em> BoJack: herb and i would have to take a plane back to LA and then recover from the jetlag </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Joelle: wait, you two aren’t in california? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> BoJack: i got a job as a teacher so i had to move to connecticut, and herb came with me because idk he loves me or some shit. it was meant to be temporary but then lockdown happened </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sarah Lynn: well that seems like a whole thing </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sarah Lynn: and the violin rickrolls at 3am sound like even more of a whole thing </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sarah Lynn: sounds like f# minor problem </em>
</p><p>
  <em> BoJack: ...What? </em>
</p><p>He shakes his head and turns his phone off. It continues to buzz with notifications while he walks through to the living room. Herb’s on his laptop, and evidently he’s on some sort of call, since Princess Carolyn’s voice is coming out of his speakers.</p><p>“This lockdown should be giving you <em> more </em>time to write!”</p><p>Herb rolls his eyes. “God, PC, you’re being absolutely <em> ruthless.” </em> His eyes widen. “Is it because you’re stressed having to work home without Todd to help? Having no time <em> Ruthie-less </em> is making you <em> ruthless?” </em></p><p>“Very funny,” says Princess Carolyn, in a tone that very clearly communicates that it is <em> not </em>very funny. “While we’re making jokes, did you hear the one about the autistic kleptomaniac?”</p><p>Herb frowns. “No, I didn’t.”</p><p>“Did he always take things, literally?” suggests BoJack.</p><p>“I don’t know!” BoJack can see now that it’s a facetime chat or something -- Princess Carolyn throws up her hands on the screen. “Why don’t we miss the punchline, since <em> you’ve </em> been missing all your <em> deadlines </em>for the book you’re supposedly writing?”</p><p>Herb waves a hand dismissively. “I haven’t written anything in a few days. Been too tired, you know?”</p><p>“Tired from doing <em> what? </em>You’re not allowed out except for essentials.”</p><p>“Eh, I think I’m sick.”</p><p>Princess Carolyn’s eyes widen. “Do you have coronavirus?”</p><p>“What? No, nothing like <em> that. </em>I think it’s just, y’know, something going around.”</p><p>“Coronavirus <em> is </em> the something going around.” Her frown deepens. “You <em> do </em>look kinda pale.”</p><p>“Yeah, I haven’t been outside in two weeks.”</p><p>“You’re allowed to go out for sunlight, just not interact with people.”</p><p>“Eh, whatever. I’ll get the pages to you soon, I promise.” Princess Carolyn agrees to this even though they both know he won’t follow through, and BoJack frowns.</p><p>“Hey, babe, you okay?”</p><p>“What? Yeah, I’m fine.”</p><p>BoJack puts it in the small bucket of things that he ignores in the hope that they’ll go away. It’s almost at full capacity by now, so he has to make more room by dealing with something else -- in this case, by marking Tawnie’s monologue. He manages to, with a lot of frustration, and emails her the result, then goes out to the kitchen to get himself a pepsi -- and a straw, because his dentist is gonna <em> kill </em> him if he lets any even <em> slightly </em>acidic substance come into contact with his teeth. Then, he sees Herb.</p><p>He groans.</p><p>“Herb, why are you carrying a chair?”</p><p>“...I’m not,” says Herb, who is visibly carrying a chair.</p><p>BoJack narrows his eyes.</p><p>“Okay,” says Herb defensively. “So maybe I <em> am </em>carrying a chair, so what? Isn’t a guy allowed to carry a chair in his own house?”</p><p>“What are you too short to reach <em> this </em>time?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Herb lies, before carrying the chair into the bathroom and leaving it on the floor that’s still wet from the last time he showered, which makes it just about the most dangerous place to stand on a chair in the whole house. BoJack looks at the top shelf of the medicine cabinet and feels guilt wash over him.</p><p>“Oh shit, I must have put your meds up there when I was looking for the band-aids.” He reaches out to grab them, then pauses, frowning. “Do you want me to --”</p><p>“Eh, I’ve already got the chair out here, might as well use it. To grab my <em> own meds, </em> in my <em> own house.” </em> He climbs onto the chair, but doesn’t fully stand up, instead squatting where he’s not unnervingly high up. “Should I be giving that pepsi an F? Because this is <em> so degrading.” </em></p><p>BoJack blinks.</p><p>“...Soda grading? Like, so degrading?”</p><p>“The only thing that’s getting an F is that joke.”</p><p>“Yeah, it sounded stupid as I was saying it.” </p><p>BoJack looks guiltily at his feet. “Sorry about the meds.” </p><p>“Eh, it’s cool. At least you didn’t pour them down the sink like Hollyhock that one time. Just don’t do it again.” He stands up properly, and BoJack watches him cautiously, trying to figure out how to best catch him without injuring himself in the process if Herb falls off the chair.</p><p>The thing is, Herb doesn’t <em> fall off the chair. </em> He just <em> falls. </em></p><p>He doesn’t lose his balance but instead just drops like a log the second he’s standing up properly, and BoJack has to frantically grab his arms so he falls in the right direction to not crack his head open on the tile floor. The two fall to the floor in an ungraceful heap, BoJack grunting at the impact. </p><p>“Woah,” says Herb.</p><p>“Holy shit, are you okay?”</p><p>“I, I think so. You mostly broke the fall for me.” He frowns. “Are <em> you </em>okay?”</p><p>“Uh, I’m kinda bruised, but I think I’ll be good.” He sits up, frowning. “What the hell was that? You didn’t even lose your balance, you just --”</p><p>“It’s fine. It’s just, it was that <em> thing, </em> you know, where you stand up too fast and everything sort of <em> whites out </em>for a moment and you’ve gotta grip the wall? Except, there was no wall because I was standing on a chair. So I just fell off the chair, and then my idiot husband got himself hurt trying to catch me.”</p><p>BoJack stares at him. Herb wilts under his gaze.</p><p>“Yeah,” he mumbles guiltily, standing up with one hand gripping the wall. “Yeah, do you think it’ll be a problem if I steal a couple of your iron supplements?”</p><p>“Well, I mean, sharing tablets is meant to be <em> super </em> bad, but -- it’s just iron, it probably won’t kill you.” He stands up, his frown deepening. “Why the hell would <em> you </em>be anemic?”</p><p>“Uh, I dunno. I’m getting old?”</p><p>“Yeah, but you’re healthy as shit! You don’t smoke, you get plenty of exercise, you eat a balanced diet, you get plenty of sleep even if a lot of it’s at two in the afternoon so you wake up at all hours of the morning to rickroll me on your shitty violin--”</p><p>“None of those things are actually what causes anemia.”</p><p>“The eating thing might be.” He narrows his eyes. “You <em> are </em> eating enough, right? Because you <em> have </em>been losing weight lately.”</p><p>“I have?” Frowning, he gets a bathroom scale from behind a cupboard and steps onto it. “Huh, I guess I have. That’s weird.”</p><p>“If I’ve somehow managed to drag you into eating disorder hell, I swear to God, I’m gonna <em> kill </em>someone.” </p><p>“What? No! ...Who would you kill? Anyway, you’ve <em> seen </em> me eating. It’s probably just, you know, I -- I’m turning <em>sixty</em> next year, BJ. You really expect me to keep being fit and healthy while I’m goddamn sixty?”</p><p>“...Yes?”</p><p>“I’m <em> fine. </em>Don’t worry about me, BJ.” He flashes a smile. “I’m fine.” </p><p>BoJack forces himself to believe it.</p><p>He grabs a bottle from the top of the cabinet. “Here’s your meds.” He digs around in the cabinet for a bit. “And here’s my iron, if you want it.” </p><p>“Thanks. I’m gonna go grab some water to take them with.”</p><p>“I’ll take the chair out.”</p><p>“You don’t have to do that. But, I mean, thanks.”</p><p>BoJack takes the chair back out to the living room. Herb enters the room a few minutes later and picks up his violin and starts playing it horribly -- he <em> told </em> him that if he wanted to be self-taught he should stick to guitar or something, but no, he <em> had </em> to go with the most annoying possible instrument -- while BoJack checks his phone. He types up a quick reply to Sarah Lynn’s explanation of the <em> F sharp minor </em> joke -- apparently they were trying to say it sounded like <em> a major problem, </em> somehow -- and puts it back in his pocket. On instinct he pats his pockets, checking that everything he needs is still there. “I’m gonna go out for some fresh air.” <em> And to get away from your shitty violin playing, </em>he doesn’t add, but he sure as hell thinks it very loudly. “If you need anything I’ll just be outside.”</p><p>Herb nods, causing him to completely screw up the next three bars, and BoJack goes outside to take a deep breath of the outside air. It’s a chilly day, but not unpleasantly so, and it’s windy; the breeze is messing up his mane, which is a right pain in the ass.</p><p>Somewhere in the back of BoJack’s mind is a small bucket of things that he ignores in the hope that they’ll go away on their own. He’s constantly searching for things that he can take out of the bucket and actually address in a meaningful way -- responding to emails, calling people back even if they’re unknown numbers and they were probably just calling to try and sell him shit, apologising for things he did years ago even if the other person’s already forgiven and forgotten.</p><p>The bucket is still almost full.</p><p>BoJack checks his pockets again, on instinct. Still full. He takes a small rectangular box out of one pocket, and a lighter out of the other.</p><p>He feels a twinge of guilt, for lying to Herb. None of the air he goes out for is fresh for very long.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Out Of The Woods</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>BoJack accidentally causes a fight with Herb during a call to Hollyhock; Sarah Lynn is bored with the lockdown, while Todd is keeping himself and Maude entertained with various schemes.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>me: okay, hollyhock isn't a music major in this au and that was actually a plot point in the first fic so retconning it in the sequel would be shitty, so i'm not going to have some completely gratuitous reference to music theory in every chapter<br/>also me, in every chapter: *has a completely gratuitous reference to music theory*</p><p>what can I say? I Do Not Control The Special Interest</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He continues allowing the small bucket of things that he ignores in the hope that they’ll go away on their own to remain at full capacity even when he’s stupid enough and curious enough and </span>
  <em>
    <span>bored out of his mind </span>
  </em>
  <span>enough to actually check out those absurdly specific WikiHow articles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of them are actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>entertaining, really. It’s funny for a moment to read the title and imagine his prior self, fully dressed in his </span>
  <em>
    <span>Philbert </span>
  </em>
  <span>costume and in the middle of falling off a building, casually and calmly getting out his phone to look up an article on how to survive a fall from a great height, but then he makes the mistake of actually clicking the article and it turns out the real page is very upfront about the fact that you’re supposed to have the details of the guide memorised in case something does happen, rather than checking it in the moment, which makes it a lot less funny.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing is, BoJack used to play this </span>
  <em>
    <span>game, </span>
  </em>
  <span>back when he was regularly too depressed to get out of bed but still not wanting to just be bored for the next three hours until Herb inevitably pointed out that he needed to eat something and maybe take a shower. For someone who had spent the majority of his life sitting or lying on the couch complaining about things, he had always been remarkably bad at dealing with boredom. So, when he was bored enough to justify doing something but not bored enough to justify actually downloading an app to keep himself entertained, he would play </span>
  <em>
    <span>the Wiki game.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The Wiki game was just going to the Wikipedia home page, clicking to a random page, and then clicking various links to see if he could find a way to get to the page for something he cared about, like Secretariat or </span>
  <em>
    <span>Horsin’ Around. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was always a shitty game, and it usually got boring before he found anything, but the habit stuck, and now before he knows it he’s somehow researching first aid for a stab wound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except, the thing is, the first aid article is in the overall medical category. And when he looks at other medicine-related absurdly specific guides, one of the results nudges the small bucket of things that he ignores in the hope that they’ll go away on their own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack briefly thinks about the fact that out of </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>the things he’s left in the bucket of things he ignores in the hope that they’ll go away on their own, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing has <em>ever</em> actually gone away on its own. He quickly un-thinks about this fact, closes his laptop, and goes to the living room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb is still ranting about whatever he’s ranting about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you remember it, right?” he presses BoJack, who isn’t sure what he’s supposed to be remembering but starts nodding anyway. “There was a whole episode about it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” agrees BoJack. He blinks. “A whole episode about what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There was an episode where Ethan was too stubborn to get his flu shot, and then he had to miss his school band’s concert because he was sick and they didn’t have a saxophone player! You remember that episode, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack thinks for a moment. “Uh, that was the one where the horse did the terrible saxophone solo and then got sick himself in the stinger?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that one! It was right after the one where Sabrina brushes her teeth in the fridge. See, I’m not crazy!” He smugly turns back to his laptop screen and starts typing. “Ethan is </span>
  <em>
    <span>canonically </span>
  </em>
  <span>unvaccinated, so Bradley can eat my shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>arguing with Bradley over that tweet he made? Aren’t you supposed to be writing a book right now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I’ve written </span>
  <em>
    <span>loads </span>
  </em>
  <span>today already! I already wrote, like, a chapter title, and a sentence about the protagonist waking up, and then the first word of the second sentence for this chapter. That seems like enough work to justify a two-hour break.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, maybe today was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad day </span>
  </em>
  <span>writing-wise. You see, last night I stayed up late to finish the last chapter, and by the time I was done I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead </span>
  </em>
  <span>tired, so I went straight to bed without washing the dishes, which means I had to wash them this morning, and by the time </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>was done basically half the morning was gone, and if half the morning’s gone then the whole morning’s gone so I might as well call it a day, and --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>how time works.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And my </span>
  <em>
    <span>entire </span>
  </em>
  <span>writing routine is shot because of this whole lockdown thing! I’m used to writing at a cafe or something, or back in L.A. Now I can’t get in </span>
  <em>
    <span>the zone! </span>
  </em>
  <span>So really it’s a miracle I’ve written as much as I have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack smirks. “You sure you’re not just being lazy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re in a pandemic, BJ, everyone’s being lazy. Is that your phone or mine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack finally notices the irritating cover of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Horsin’ Around </span>
  </em>
  <span>theme and checks his phone. “Must be yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb picks up his phone. “Oh shit, I forgot it was Sunday.” He answers the call. “Hi, Hollyhock.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first few words she says in response are muffled, but then Herb puts his phone on speaker and it becomes more clear. “So how have you guys been doing with the lockdown?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, it’s been okay,” says BoJack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>whines Herb. “Bradley Hitler-Smith is trying to pass off his half-baked </span>
  <em>
    <span>Horsin’ Around</span>
  </em>
  <span> theories as canon. I gave up on trying to teach myself violin, and now I’ve forgotten how! And I keep not bothering to write my novel and the stupid thing won’t write itself. Ugh, I have all of these problems that are entirely caused by my own laziness.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow,” says Hollyhock. “If only there was something you could do to solve those problems.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, I’d try, but I’m too, well, lazy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And we had to sell our restaurant,” says BoJack nonchalantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what?” chokes Hollyhock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, didn’t we mention? Back in 2014 I got drunk and impulse-brought a restaurant to impress Herb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did it impress him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” says Herb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It did,” says BoJack. “Anyway, I sort of did my best to pretend I didn’t own it at all and leave all the staff to go shove a cactus up their asses, but then they started threatening to sue me for hygiene issues because of the whole pandemic thing, so I sold it off to someone who knew how to run a restaurant. I mean, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>know how to run a restaurant, but that’s Mr. Peanutbutter’s problem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh,” moans Hollyhock. “All this talk about restaurants is making me wish I could go out to eat again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me about it,” says Herb. “I used to write in cafes all the time because I’m still not used to living here. Now I just don’t write at all!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack groans loudly. “What I want to know is, why are we still in lockdown? I mean, everyone’s been at home for more than two weeks, so all the sick people are gonna start showing symptoms by now. So everyone who’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>sick yet is out of the woods, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I mean, </span>
  <em>
    <span>probably,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>says Hollyhock. “But we don’t really </span>
  <em>
    <span>know, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you know? I mean, this is a totally new virus, so we don’t really </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>anything about it. Maybe some people can seem like they’re fine for longer than two weeks. And some people are totally ignoring the social distancing rules, which is gonna make us stay in lockdown longer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” agrees Herb. “And the thing is, if just a couple of people can be asymptomatic and slip by unnoticed, then we’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>out of the woods, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack gulps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” says Hollyhock. “There was this one time I got sick and missed a class so Joby had to come to my room to help me catch up on the work I missed, and I was busy whining about how </span>
  <em>
    <span>awful </span>
  </em>
  <span>it was and I asked why nobody’d thought up a cure for the common cold. Then Joby got all fake-deep and started talking about how they’re trying to prioritise finding a cure for cancer. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>now, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m not even allowed to see him in person so I can rub in his face that if someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>taken my advice and cured the cold, then --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then we’d still be in the same situation because coronavirus is literally a different virus, idiot,” says BoJack. “And Joby sounds like a real idiot. You really think the cancer scientists and the virus scientists are the same people?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, right? And even if it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>the virologists’ jobs to find a cure for cancer, well, they’re already </span>
  <em>
    <span>done! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ever heard of chemotherapy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb frowns. “Chemo isn’t just a </span>
  <em>
    <span>cure </span>
  </em>
  <span>for cancer. It causes the </span>
  <em>
    <span>worst </span>
  </em>
  <span>side effects, and it doesn’t even always destroy the cancer! It’s basically just poisoning yourself and </span>
  <em>
    <span>hoping </span>
  </em>
  <span>the cancer dies first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but, like, isn’t that basically what all medicine does?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...What? No! Not even remotely. I thought you were a chemistry major?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m serious!” she continues. “Like, you know antibiotics, right? The word antibiotic literally means </span>
  <em>
    <span>killing life.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“As opposed to killing death,” snarks BoJack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you get an infection, you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>basically </span>
  </em>
  <span>just shoving poison into yourself. It’s just safer than chemo because it’s only bad for bacteria.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great example,” says BoJack. “Just like iron supplements, which is the drug you take when you’re poisoning yourself and </span>
  <em>
    <span>hoping </span>
  </em>
  <span>the iron deficiency dies first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Iron’s not a drug.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, whatever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb raises an eyebrow. “So does this mean the point of antidepressants is to poison yourself and hope the depression dies first?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve been through this, Herb, the point of antidepressants is to be antidepressed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I keep telling you, I don’t think that’s a real word.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>so antidepressed?” He looks away smugly, and when Herb fails to deliver a comeback, he says, “Checkmate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he hears the tone indicating that the call has ended. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks back at Herb and sees that his finger is hovering over the </span>
  <em>
    <span>end call </span>
  </em>
  <span>button, the one that he</span>
  <em>
    <span> just pressed, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he’s trembling from head to toe and </span>
  <em>
    <span>glaring. </span>
  </em>
  <span>BoJack gulps, then takes a deep breath to stop himself from getting defensive. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” snaps Herb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut </span>
  <em>
    <span>up,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Herb repeats, standing up and storming out of the room. BoJack stands up to follow but he sees him out of the corner of his eye ad adds, “Leave me alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Babe, I can tell you’re mad at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not exactly meant to be a secret.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a mind reader, okay? If you want me to apologise you have to actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell </span>
  </em>
  <span>me what I did wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure, sure, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>need to explain.” There’s a loud clanging noise from the kitchen that indicates that he’s started to wash the dishes abnormally loudly. “Let’s put </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>the burden on the guy who’s upset, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t want to do a little self-reflection to figure out what you did wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>did wrong?” chokes BoJack defensively. “I was just talking to Hollyhock and </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>got pissed and won’t explain why! You’re --” It takes him a little too long to realise he’s getting defensive, and as much as he thinks it’s justified he knows it’s not helping, so he takes a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll try to self-reflect. We were, uh, we were talking about cancer, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>not what pissed you off because you didn’t have a problem until we’d already moved past that and started pointing out that Hollyhock knows nothing about medicine, and then I made a joke about how the point of antidepressants is to be antidepressed, and you said that’s not a word so I said you were antidepressed, and … </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Herb’s back in the living room now and he’s glaring. “So </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>what you’re pissed off about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm-hmm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>come </span>
  </em>
  <span>on!” He throws up his hands in frustration, immediately back on the defensive. “Being antidepressed is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>good </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing. You know that, right? I thought it was clear based on the context of me being </span>
  <em>
    <span>married to you </span>
  </em>
  <span>that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>prefer </span>
  </em>
  <span>when you’re not depressed. What, aren’t I allowed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>say </span>
  </em>
  <span>that you’re doing better now?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not to Hollyhock, you’re not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack’s features immediately soften. “Oh, shit.” His face falls. “Baby, I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally </span>
  </em>
  <span>no reason Hollyhock needs to know what meds I’m on. Nobody’s entitled to that information.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, and I shouldn’t have said it in front of her, and I’m sorry. And from now on I’ll actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>think </span>
  </em>
  <span>before I say stupid bullshit like that so I don’t mess up again, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...” Herb hesitates, then takes a deep breath. “Yeah, okay. I forgive you. Just don’t get into the habit of giving out my medical information to defend a made-up word, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t, promise.” There’s a noise that sounds like an incoming text notification and he frowns. “That your phone or mine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mine. Probably Hollyhock asking why I hung up in the middle of a conversation.” He checks his phone. “Wait, never mind, it’s just Bradley arguing with me.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>He slams the microwave door shut in a way that’s probably going to cause it to stop working eventually if he keeps up the habit, and spends an abnormally long time pressing the button to add thirty seconds before it’s finally set to cook for long enough. “And… fortissimo!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb pinches the bridge of his nose. “I keep telling you, you can’t just use random Italian words when you’re making pizza. It doesn’t make sense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut </span>
  <em>
    <span>up, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Herb, it’s a mezzo-soprano pizza.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a musical term.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, half of the goddamn Italian language is a musical term.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s more like, half of the goddamn musical language is Italian.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what?” BoJack says, smirking. He takes out his phone. “I’m gonna call Todd and ask him if I’m right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do we really need to get a tiebreaker for </span>
  <em>
    <span>every </span>
  </em>
  <span>argument we have? Even the ones that are over literally nothing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you once broke your leg in an argument over literally nothing.” He makes the call and holds the phone to his ear. “Todd, I need your help. It’s an emergency.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on?” asks Todd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I use random musical terms when I’m cooking pizza, because they’re technically Italian?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Uh. I guess?” There’s a short pause. “I mean, nobody’s gonna stop you. Are you doing that thing again where you call me to prove Herb wrong about something silly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No! I would </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>do that.” Herb raises an eyebrow at him. “Okay, yeah, that is exactly what I’m doing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, speaking of Herb, uh … I saw his recent Twitter argument with Bradley --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you didn’t use Twitter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, there’s screenshots everywhere now. Anyway, I feel obligated to inform you that literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything </span>
  </em>
  <span>he said was completely wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re, like, the third person to tell me that.” He ducks his head into the kitchen to check on how the food’s going. “How’s Maude going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>great!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He sounds genuinely excited. “You know, at first I was worried about moving in with her, just because I’ve never lived with a girlfriend before, but … it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There’s never a dull moment! It’s like, she’s the </span>
  <em>
    <span>she </span>
  </em>
  <span>to my </span>
  <em>
    <span>nanigans.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Put those words back in your mouth.” He slaps himself in the forehead. “How are you even continuing your shenanigans, anyway? You’re not allowed out of the house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can still do stuff! Our favourite at the moment is DIY science experiments.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” BoJack carelessly moves the phone away from his ear to check the time, then groans. “Wait, hang on a sec, I’ve got a text.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, is it important?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think so, it’s just some … </span>
  <em>
    <span>theynanigans.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack ignores him, turning to Herb. “Do you know what an </span>
  <em>
    <span>online Mariothon </span>
  </em>
  <span>is and why it’s my problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Herb shrugs, Todd takes it upon himself to answer. “I think it’s a thing in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mario Party </span>
  </em>
  <span>game?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, that means I’ll need a switch, doesn’t it? When will that idiot realise we don’t have a switch?!” He types up a reply and groans. “Anyway, what were you saying about experiments?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Maude and I did an experiment yesterday to figure out whether eggs bounce. Turns out, they don’t! Who could have --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean, you’re going to buy me a switch?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” chokes Todd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just -- just give me a minute.” He mutes his microphone, then turns to Herb. “Hey, do we want a free switch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” asks Herb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nintendo </span>
  </em>
  <span>console. Do we want one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He waves a hand dismissively. “Sarah Lynn’s so bored with the lockdown that they’re offering to buy a free switch and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mario Party </span>
  </em>
  <span>game if anyone will play online with them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah, sure, why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool.” He types up a reply to Sarah Lynn, then goes back to the call and unmutes his mike. “Sorry about that, had to deal with some annoying bullshit. So, the eggs didn’t bounce?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not even a little,” confirms Todd. “We tried repeating to see if we got different results, but it was very consistent! And the day before, we did a different experiment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We wanted to see what would happen if a bucket got too full. So, we filled a bucket with water, and kept filling it until it couldn’t hold anymore. Turns out, it spills and makes a mess! Who could have guessed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long, ominous silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...BoJack?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” says BoJack hurriedly. “It seems that this conversation has reached its natural conclusion, so I’m going to hang up now, okay bye!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hangs up and spends a few moments catching his breath. Herb raises an eyebrow at him. “...Uh, you okay, BJ?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” He clears his throat nervously. “How’s your book going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty good. I’ve written three sentence fragments and half a punctuation mark so far.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Baby, you’ve been writing for the past </span>
  <em>
    <span>six hours.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, has it been that long?” He glances at the clock in the corner of his screen. “Ugh, I just </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>focus lately.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think it’s the meds?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I was writing fine with the meds up until recently. I think I’m just sick, or something. Ugh, how does that keep happening?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>that keep happening?” asks BoJack, narrowing his eyes. “I mean, who the hell have you been in contact with that’s getting you sick? You haven’t left the house for </span>
  <em>
    <span>weeks </span>
  </em>
  <span>except to get some fresh air in the backyard, and it can’t be food poisoning because we’re not allowed to go out to eat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How </span>
  </em>
  <span>do you keep getting sick?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...That’s an excellent question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long, painful silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” says BoJack. “I think I left the oven on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How?” asks Herb. “We’ve been using the microwave all day because we’re both too lazy to actually cook. You haven’t turned it on since yesterday evening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack gulps. Herb makes brief eye contact with him, then looks away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...</span>
  <em>
    <span>But,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>says Herb slowly. “Maybe it’s best to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>check, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you know? There’s no harm in checking. Better safe than sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>say </span>
  </em>
  <span>that sometimes there </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>harm in checking, because sometimes </span>
  <em>
    <span>you cannot acknowledge that it is a potential problem that requires checking, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but he certainly thinks it very loudly. Instead, he says, “Yeah, you’re right, better safe than sorry. I’m gonna go check that the oven’s off, and I will not be back for several hours.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Kin Drama</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sarah Lynn hosts a virtual Horsin' Around reunion for the sake of playing Mario Party, but tensions break out due to Bradley and Herb's differing opinions on Ethan's character.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The computer groans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t just hiss and buzz, like it does sometimes when it’s starting up because he’s been meaning to get a new one for over a year now; it </span>
  <em>
    <span>groans </span>
  </em>
  <span>from the mere </span>
  <em>
    <span>second </span>
  </em>
  <span>he enters the chat. At first, it seems normal, a little irritated but not comically so; but the groan continues until it’s obviously performative by its sheer length, until everyone is staring into the camera with an annoyed and yet simultaneously amused look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, dear,” says Bradley Hitler-Smith blankly. “There it is again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb blinks. “Uh, what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Before you joined the chat, Bradley was complaining about how he had this headache that comes and goes,” explains Joelle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>the headache?!” chokes Herb. When all three of them nod, he sputters out, “That’s bullshit. If anyone’s a headache, it’s … Stupidface Hitler-Smith.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>the best insult you’ve got?” chokes BoJack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me some time, I’m tired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarah Lynn waves a peace sign in front of the camera, smirking. “So I take it you two are still upset about your kin drama?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While they all log onto the game, Sarah Lynn gives a long and excruciating explanation of what “kin drama” is, leaving them all even more confused than they were when the subject was first mentioned. When this long and excruciating history of early 2010s Tumblr discourse is over, Herb frowns. “But that’s not what this argument is over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t it?” asks Joelle. “I mean, it’s about which of you is more reliable as the authority on Ethan’s character.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the answer to that is </span>
  <em>
    <span>clearly </span>
  </em>
  <span>me, since I </span>
  <em>
    <span>invented </span>
  </em>
  <span>him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So basically, yeah, this is two old men getting each other cancelled over kin drama.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two old men?” repeats Bradley incredulously. “I mean, I get Herb, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>not old yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not </span>
  <em>
    <span>young </span>
  </em>
  <span>either,” says Sarah Lynn. “So, just as a heads up, are we going to actually play any </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mario Party </span>
  </em>
  <span>or is this just going to be two hours of kin drama?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not kin drama,” snaps Herb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bradley pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, can we wait a sec before we start? I’ve got to go grab myself a pepsi.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>As expected, it’s chaos.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody actually has a clue how to play any of the minigames except Sarah Lynn, who wins repeatedly and then brags about it as though anyone else actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>cares </span>
  </em>
  <span>who wins or loses. And, of course, Bradley and Herb are liable to start fighting if they’re either allowed to get more than a few words in when Sarah Lynn stops to breathe, and whether they’re aware of this or not, they seem to know that they have to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>keep talking </span>
  </em>
  <span>until there is </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing left to say, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and, well, when you’re Sarah Freaking Lynn, there is </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>more to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So yeah, then I snorted the sugar,” they finish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is the </span>
  <em>
    <span>point </span>
  </em>
  <span>of this hangout?” asks BoJack. “We’re literally just failing at </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mario Party </span>
  </em>
  <span>and listening to you rant. You can talk to yourself while playing video games by yourself, why are you getting us all involved?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a good question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long, ominous silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Besides,” says Joelle. “We don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>that Ethan never got his vaccination off-screen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack shoots an irritated look into the camera, and even though Joelle can’t tell that it’s directed at her he’s sure that the underlying implication of </span>
  <em>
    <span>why would you bring that up </span>
  </em>
  <span>is communicated pretty well. “We </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>know,” snarls Herb. “because I said he didn’t and I’m the writer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Death of the author,” says Sarah Lynn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Death of the author is </span>
  <em>
    <span>bullshit! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ethan is canonically unvaccinated and this is the hill I will die on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope you’re really prepared for that,” says Ethan. “Because I’m about to kill you on that hill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack clears his throat loudly. “Okay, why don’t we talk about something that </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>going to start an argument?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“BoJack, we’ve got Joelle and Sarah Lynn in this chat. Name </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing that isn’t going to start an argument.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarah Lynn pouts. “Joelle and I haven’t fought since that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ethan Around </span>
  </em>
  <span>episode we did together back in 2018.” At Joelle’s raised eyebrow, they add, “Okay, maybe we’ve had a </span>
  <em>
    <span>few </span>
  </em>
  <span>fights since then. But we’re buddies now! Would I invite her to this if I still hated her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Probably.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joelle clears her throat loudly. “Hey, Herb, you were meant to be writing a book, weren’t you? How’s that going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” answers Herb. “It’s been going okay. I’m on chapter six at the moment. I was meant to finish it yesterday, but I didn’t want to, so then I didn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bradley smirks. “That’s writing for you, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah, that’s what being a writer is. I just </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>deadlines, you know? Love the </span>
  <em>
    <span>whoosh </span>
  </em>
  <span>sound they make as they fly over my head.” He frowns. “Well, in my defense, it’s been hard to get in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>zone, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarah Lynn looks up. “Oh, are you doing that </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing </span>
  </em>
  <span>where you never do anything unless you’re in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>zone, </span>
  </em>
  <span>even though you don’t know what the zone </span>
  <em>
    <span>is?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I know what the zone </span>
  <em>
    <span>is.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I used to have this great writing routine.” His eyes are wide and sparkling as he leans forward to eagerly explain. “See, I’d get up at, like, eight in the morning, and then I’d have to make breakfast, and I’d spend the whole time complaining about how I’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasted the morning </span>
  </em>
  <span>like I didn’t do the same thing every goddamn day, and then I’d sit on the couch and write. Then after a few words I’d give myself a break, and go eat lunch, and get distracted reading a novel I’ve already read six times. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>then </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’d freak out about how late in the afternoon it is, and go out and write more near the pool where there’s no distractions, and then BJ would come distract me anyway, and I’d think about telling him to leave me alone so I can focus but then tell myself there’ll be plenty of time to focus on writing later, and, and --” His face falls. “BJ, I want to go home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Uh, what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>God.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>His breathing is picking up by now. “I miss L.A. I want to go </span>
  <em>
    <span>home. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I --” He stops, mid-sentence, and just </span>
  <em>
    <span>flops </span>
  </em>
  <span>over into BoJack’s lap, knocking the controller out of his hands. BoJack stares uselessly with wide eyes as Herb just </span>
  <em>
    <span>sobs </span>
  </em>
  <span>into his knees. “Woah! What, what the hell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb continues to sob. Bradley slurps his soda irritatingly loudly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb finally looks up at the camera and wipes his eyes. “...Can you not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, are you the hydration police as well as the headcanon police?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack groans. “We’re kind of having a moment here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m kind of having a pepsi here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack mutes the computer’s microphone and turns the camera off, then grips Herb by the shoulders. “Baby, talk to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb remains silent for a long time. Then, he takes a deep breath and leans back against the couch cushions. “That’s why I’ve barely written a word since I got here. I just want to go back to California, and every time I try to get into a </span>
  <em>
    <span>writing routine </span>
  </em>
  <span>it just reminds me of how I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why </span>
  </em>
  <span>would you want to go home?” asks BoJack, gesturing wildly. “We’re still in lockdown, you dingus. If we were back in L.A., we’d still be sitting around the house all day.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but it would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>our </span>
  </em>
  <span>house.” He sniffles. “I miss all the little things, you know? Like, I miss having the bedroom be upstairs, and I miss that tiny little crack in the bathroom wall that you made when you were drunk that one time, and I miss the pool--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>used the pool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know! I just … liked knowing I </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>if I ever wanted to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack frowns. “So basically, you’re homesick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m homesick.” He wipes his eyes. “Except it’s more than that. I’ve been missing L.A. since we got here, but I could </span>
  <em>
    <span>deal </span>
  </em>
  <span>with it, because I knew we’d just stay here until the semester was over and then we’d go back. But now I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>if we can go back once the semester’s over.” He sniffles. “This whole lockdown thing is stressing me out, you know? I feel like I never know what’s going to happen next, and that’s making me anxious.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah, it’s making me anxious too.” He bites his lip. “You know what I do, when I get anxious?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Smoke a bunch of cigarettes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that, usually. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But…</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He gestures excitedly to some imaginary object in front of him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Sometimes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>instead of smoking, what I do, is -- I say to myself, ‘You don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>to know what’s going to happen next, because whatever it is, you can get through it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...But mostly you just smoke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, mostly. Don’t smoke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb smirks. “Why? What’s gonna happen, I’ll get </span>
  <em>
    <span>cancer?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack cringes. “Too soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...It was five years ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not a long time!” He hesitates, then releases his grip on Herb’s shoulders. “Are you gonna be okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah, I’ll be good.” BoJack leans over to turn the laptop’s camera back on and he frowns. “Wait. BJ?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I have a go at the game?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah, sure. I wasn’t really that into it anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb picks up the game controller from the ground, and BoJack turns the laptop’s camera and mike back on. “Okay, so, Herb had a bit of a freak-out, so now he’s going to play instead of me. If anyone has any objections to that, then you’d better speak now or forever hold your peace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have several objections to that,” says Bradley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool. Have fun forever holding your peace.” He frowns. “What happened to your pepsi?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I finished it.” He holds up the empty can, which has now been squashed. “And, well, Herb freaking out was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>so depressing </span>
  </em>
  <span>that I had to…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack blinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Soda pressing? Like, so depressing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The only thing that’s depressing here is that joke.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, it was a good joke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The game continues.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“So basically, it was 1987,” he continues to explain. “And we were just starting to get popular, when some annoying fan asked me about the grandparents episode.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joelle’s eyes light up and she sighs fondly. “I remember filming that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it was a fun one. Well, I mean, not so much for me, because having to pretend I was stressed out about impressing my parents brought up all sorts of bullshit, but -- it was a nice episode. And it was fun to write, wasn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb barely grunts in response, focused on beating Bradley in the minigame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See, he says it was fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarah Lynn tilts their head. “Was that the one where the horse was worried his parents wouldn’t like the adopted kids?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that one! So he spent twenty-two </span>
  <em>
    <span>hilarious </span>
  </em>
  <span>minutes trying to get them to be perfect, but then the grandparents actually showed up and they didn’t care at all that Sabrina had a huge stain on her overalls. Then they had a heartwarming ending, it was nice.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, a couple weeks after that episode aired, some random fan came up and was all like, ‘Were you intentionally hinting in that episode that the horse had a bad childhood because of his parents’ impossibly high standards, and that his motivation for adopting the kids was to make sure nobody else had to suffer like he did?’. And I was like, ‘I dunno. I don’t write the scripts, I just act for them.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And?” asks Joelle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Except, thing is, the idiot kept pestering me. Went on a huge rant about how the writer might know the universe of the show, but the actor </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>knows their own character, and I would know more about the horse than the writing team.” Bradley smirks at this, but Herb is evidently </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>focused on the game judging by his lack of response. “And, the thing is, this was one of the first episodes of the show, I didn’t really have a frame of reference for what </span>
  <em>
    <span>good </span>
  </em>
  <span>parents looked like. So I thought about saying, ‘I don’t know, I don’t know what </span>
  <em>
    <span>abusive </span>
  </em>
  <span>parents actually do’, but then I realised that if I claimed to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>not know, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the idiot would try to explain it to me. And some part of me, deep down, even though I had no experience with healthy relationships, </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>that if I started hearing about abusive parents I would start freaking out because it would sound too familiar. I didn’t want that. So instead, I said, ‘No, his parents must be good people, or he wouldn’t let them come over’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joelle blinks. “Why are you telling us this story?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, I just, I was thinking about it. Stupid, isn’t it?” He forces a chuckle. “I mean, it wasn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>that I was convincing the fan was fine, just a character that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>loosely </span>
  </em>
  <span>based on me. And without knowing </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>about the topic, I knew that it </span>
  <em>
    <span>might </span>
  </em>
  <span>apply to me, and I didn’t want to risk learning anything about it in case learning made me find out it did. I was ashamed. So instead, I just made up some random bullshit that doesn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>prove </span>
  </em>
  <span>that he’s not --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ethan is </span>
  <em>
    <span>canonically unvaccinated!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>yells Herb in triumph as he wins the minigame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long, painful silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarah Lynn frowns. “Hey, BoJack, were you saying something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t important,” says BoJack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bradley clicks his teeth. “Okay, but you winning at </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mario Party </span>
  </em>
  <span>doesn’t make you right about a completely separate argument. You do know that, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” says Herb. “But I </span>
  <em>
    <span>won.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what the </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupidest </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing about all this is?” asks Bradley, gesturing wildly. “It’s -- you’re turning this into an argument over whether the writer or the actor knows more about the character. But even if writers </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>know the characters better, I’d still be right! You haven’t written about Ethan since the 90s. I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally </span>
  </em>
  <span>the head writer for a sitcom about him right now! And you still think you know him better than me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course </span>
  </em>
  <span>I know him better than you! His personality was based on me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>personality was based on him! I’m not kidding, he was a very formative part of my childhood.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>invented </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. You think you know more than me about a character </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>made? Would you say Chloe knows Julia better than you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Julia is </span>
  <em>
    <span>ten.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were ten during filming!” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sarah Lynn, remember that stuff I said about death of the author being </span>
  <em>
    <span>bullshit?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” says Sarah Lynn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I take it back. Death of the author </span>
  <em>
    <span>must </span>
  </em>
  <span>be a real thing, because this bullshit argument is gonna be the death of me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack clears his throat abnormally loudly. “Okay, why don’t we all take a deep breath, and then talk about something that </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ethan kin drama?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not --” begins Herb, but the look BoJack shoots him quickly shuts him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everybody takes a deep breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” says BoJack. “Now, let’s get on with the game.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long pause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” says Bradley. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“But, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I feel like someone should mention, Ethan being unvaccinated doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually </span>
  </em>
  <span>mean he can’t be --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up!”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Several arguments over Ethan kin drama later, Joelle clears her throat loudly. “Well, I’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>to stay here and continue losing horribly at video games while Sarah Lynn rants about nonsense and Bradley and Herb argue over Ethan, but I have to … go to a party.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody is going to a party. Everyone is in lockdown due to the pandemic. But Sarah Lynn evidently forgets this for a moment, and nobody else hates Joelle enough to point it out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, so now we have to do this with three people?” says Sarah Lynn. “BoJack, do you have another switch somewhere, if you want to join?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would we have another switch?” chokes BoJack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb grimaces. “I was actually thinking we should call it quits soon. I’ve been using my laptop to chat with you guys for the last two hours when I was meant to be writing, and I’m not really feeling too well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you need to be vaccinated?” snarks Bradley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowns. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>vaccinated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? That’s odd, because I thought you based the </span>
  <em>
    <span>canonically unvaccinated </span>
  </em>
  <span>character on--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t start,” warns BoJack. “We’re gonna go now. Talk to you guys next time.” He closes the computer window and Herb raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Next time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thought it would be rude to outright say that this is never happening again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, that’s it.” He opens a word document and starts typing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack frowns. “Should you really be writing right now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I normally do it in the mornings, but I just wasted a lot of time on that game.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just…” He hesitates. “You said earlier that writing stresses you out because it reminds you of how much you miss L.A. And you just said you weren’t feeling well! Unless that was just to get out of playing </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mario Party?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m genuinely sick. But I mean, I can write. And, it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>that I’m upset. I have writer’s block, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re out of ideas?” When he nods, BoJack adds, “Maybe you could try drawing from stuff that’s happened in real life! Just for a few filler chapters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah, maybe.” He hesitates, then closes the laptop. “You’re right, I shouldn’t write when I’m sick. It always ends up being shitty.” He stands up. “I think I’m gonna go call Diane.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, do you mind if I join in? I’ve been meaning to call her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, you probably shouldn’t. Yesterday she re-tweeted something saying she doesn’t want ‘Ableism Kazzaz’ supporters to interact with her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...’Ableism Kazzaz’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, stupid nickname, I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, this argument with Bradley is </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>getting out of hand.” He frowns. “So if she doesn’t want people who </span>
  <em>
    <span>support </span>
  </em>
  <span>you to interact with her, then --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She sent me a long text, explaining how she’s still friends with </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>because she hopes one day I’ll look back at all of this and cringe, but she doesn’t like how my mindless fans are putting me on a pedestal and acting like I can do no wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...And you think your </span>
  <em>
    <span>husband </span>
  </em>
  <span>is a mindless fan putting you on a pedestal and acting like you can do no wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Honestly? Sometimes.” He smirks. “Besides, maybe she and I can bounce some ideas around, for my book.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m telling you, you just gotta steal from shit that’s happened to you as inspiration. Worked </span>
  <em>
    <span>great </span>
  </em>
  <span>with my book.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your book was an autobiography. And you had to get Diane to write it for you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still, though.” He grins. “Like, it’s kind of a comedy, right? Like a sitcom, but in book form? You and I have had </span>
  <em>
    <span>loads </span>
  </em>
  <span>of stupid fights over nothing. You know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hilarious </span>
  </em>
  <span>misunderstandings. Some of those would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>great </span>
  </em>
  <span>filler scenes!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah.” He smiles a little. “Maybe I’ll add some of those next chapter.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I was planning this chapter out being all like "okay the symbolism literally CANNOT be any more blatant the readers are gonna think im being patronising" but then I actually wrote it and like … its surprisingly subtle.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Hilarious Miscommunications</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Herb tries to think of a hilarious miscommunication he's had with BoJack, to use in his novel.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>His fingers clack on the keyboard. His eyes are starting to sting with the constant effort of staring at a screen for hours on end, but he forces himself to keep them wide open anyway. He’s out of energy, out of ideas, and out of patience with himself, but he still continues, </span>
  <em>
    <span>desperate </span>
  </em>
  <span>to get in a few thousand more words, to finish this chapter, this scene, this </span>
  <em>
    <span>sentence.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Geez,” says BoJack. “You’ve been writing that for, like, twelve hours straight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb grimaces. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that a good idea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably not. But, I mean, I haven’t done much actual </span>
  <em>
    <span>writing. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’ve basically just been browsing the web for twelve hours straight while having a word document open.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still got writer’s block?” At Herb’s small nod, he adds, “I keep telling you, it’s easier to get ideas if you draw inspiration from your own life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’ll try that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack rolls over in bed. “I might call it a night now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, I was gonna go grab myself a snack first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, could you grab me some water while you’re up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure.” He carefully climbs out of bed, trying not to jolt BoJack who is already half-asleep by this point, and goes out to the kitchen. He’s halfway there when he walks past the bathroom and pauses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Did I remember to take my meds?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack’s only response is a half-asleep, “I dunno,” from the bedroom, so Herb tries to go through his memory of the evening. He ate dinner, yes, and BoJack made a bunch of annoying jokes where he used musical terms to describe a pizza on the grounds that they were both Italian, and then they talked a little about how the COVID-related restrictions are lifting and maybe soon they’ll be able to go home. Then, he went upstairs to finish the chapter of his book, and while he was there his alarm went off telling him to take his meds, and then he told himself he’d do it later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unsurprisingly, he forgot. God </span>
  <em>
    <span>damn </span>
  </em>
  <span>it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he goes back out to the kitchen to grab some water, he thinks about the stupid book that distracted him, and BoJack’s advice on how to deal with writer’s block. Come to think of it, it’s not half bad. They </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>had a couple of hilarious miscommunications over the years. Like the time BoJack got arrested for flipping a random stroller with a baby in it, an incident which decidedly did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>happen because he didn’t respect Herb enough to adopt a baby with him.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Sorry, officer,” said BoJack breathlessly. “I was just running away from my boyfriend, who I do not respect enough to adopt a baby with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One very close call with being arrested later, Herb pinched the bridge of his nose. “So, as I was saying before you flipped out and broke several laws, I want to adopt a baby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...With me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, who else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, Aquaman?” Herb narrowed his eyes and BoJack, wilting under his glare, rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he fumbled for an excuse. “Well, I mean, it’s gonna be pretty hard to actually do that, since we’re gay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but last week there was a news headline about eight gay men adopting a horse girl! If they can get away with it, surely two regular, </span>
  <em>
    <span>famous </span>
  </em>
  <span>people that just </span>
  <em>
    <span>happen </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be gay could?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh…” He gulped. “I dunno, Herb. I mean, this is something you really gotta think about for a while…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>been thinking about it for a while!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>haven’t! And I mean, that’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>huge </span>
  </em>
  <span>responsibility. What if we mess that kid up, like my parents did? I’d never forgive myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Oh.” Herb’s face fell. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly! And, I mean, if you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>want a baby to look after, well … you’ve got me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>once scream for three hours because you couldn’t find the milk…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It turned out, it was in the fridge the whole time!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still don’t get why you didn’t look there first.” He frowned. “But, I mean, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>be a dad, couldn’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack’s face fell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, BJ. Tell me I’d be a good dad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...If this is a dealbreaker, then you’re free to go.” He gulped. “Okay? If you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to go and start a family and get your happy ending then just </span>
  <em>
    <span>go </span>
  </em>
  <span>find someone who can give you that. But we </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>put me in charge of a kid. It would be so irresponsible! I can’t even be responsible for my own breakfast, and you want me to be responsible for an actual, living thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah. You’re right.” His lip quivered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh God, no.” He wrapped an arm around Herb’s shoulders just in time for him to start crying. “I -- I’m sorry, I, I didn’t -- baby you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>I can’t be a parent -- come on, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t cry, this doesn’t have to be a dealbreaker--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not. It’s, it’s fine.” He wiped his eyes. “I’m not going to try and force you to do anything you know you’re not ready for.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And, it’s not a dealbreaker if you don’t want kids. It was never a </span>
  <em>
    <span>huge </span>
  </em>
  <span>part of my dream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s a relief.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just… do you really think if we had a kid, they’d be </span>
  <em>
    <span>messed up?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Herb looked like he’d just been punched in the gut and BoJack rushed to correct himself. “I mean, I don’t mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>would mess them up! I’m talking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Can you imagine me with a kid?” He forced a chuckle. “Half the time I’d be too depressed to do anything and the other half I’d avoid the stupid thing because I’d be scared of hurting it. It’d grow up knowing that it has two parents and only one of them actually gives a shit. That’d mess anyone up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...'It’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly! See, we haven’t even agreed to adopt the stupid thing yet and I’m already dehumanising it. I’d be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrible </span>
  </em>
  <span>father.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I have to agree with that.” He sniffled. “But, if it was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>then --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you’d be </span>
  <em>
    <span>great! </span>
  </em>
  <span>But I’m not in a position where I can put my part in, and it wouldn’t be fair to expect you to raise an entire child on your own.” He hesitated. “You know, if you really want this, then maybe you should --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not leaving you, dummy.” He playfully punched him in the shoulder. “I already said, it’s not a dealbreaker.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>He cringes at the memory. As much as it’s easy to look back now and think </span>
  <em>
    <span>wow, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>funny that he actually thought it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>that would mess up the kid and not his notorious train wreck husband, but, well, there was a moment there when he actually thought that he would </span>
  <em>
    <span>traumatise a child, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and it was actually quite distressing in the moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pours himself a glass of water and then goes back to the bathroom to take his meds. He swallows down the tablets, and then goes back out to the kitchen. He checks the fridge. There seems to be almost nothing of particular value. He checks the cupboards. Everything that he would even consider eating is sugary and energising, and that seems like a bad idea when he’s maybe half an hour away from going to bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finally settles on some fruit that he brought when he was deciding to </span>
  <em>
    <span>eat healthy, </span>
  </em>
  <span>immediately before deciding that eating healthy was stupid, purely because if he doesn’t eat it then BoJack sure won’t and it’s going to go off soon. So, he rinses off an apple, and bites into it. It’s a few moments too late that he remembers that fruits also have sugar, and he can’t remember whether it’s the same sugar that’s in desserts so he briefly considers looking it up, but then he remembers he left his phone in the bedroom and he can’t be bothered going back to get it, so he’ll just have to eat whatever he has and hopefully it won’t have him awake until three in the goddamn morning, bouncing off the walls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although, come to think of it, he’d probably have to be downright eating sugar straight from the tin by the spoonfuls to actually be </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>hyperactive. And, it’s not like it would even be that problematic if he did end up keeping himself up all night; he has nothing to do in the morning, so he’ll just mess up his sleep schedule and spend a few weeks sleeping all afternoon and annoying the shit out of BoJack by practicing violin terribly at obscene hours of the morning, and then one day he’ll be made aware of some future event requiring him to be out of bed at a reasonable time and that will prompt him to fix up his sleep cycle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Who cares about sleep during a pandemic, anyway?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, he guesses his stupid-ass therapist would probably be on his ass about it, if he was still in L.A. But, he’s not. And he stopped seeing her for a reason.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...He guesses that’s another example of a </span>
  <em>
    <span>hilarious </span>
  </em>
  <span>miscommunication. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Diane’s good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waited for BoJack to say something else. When this failed to happen, he turned his attention back to the television.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Please tell me you haven’t just been watching </span>
  <em>
    <span>Horsin’ Around </span>
  </em>
  <span>the whole time I’ve been gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The </span>
  <em>
    <span>whole </span>
  </em>
  <span>time?” repeated Herb, offended, as he paused the episode. “You really think I was watching it the </span>
  <em>
    <span>whole </span>
  </em>
  <span>time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Honestly? Kind of.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“BJ, you were in Chicago for </span>
  <em>
    <span>multiple days.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, with all of the fourteen-hour marathons you used to go on, I wouldn’t be surprised.” He stood in front of the door for a moment, then sighed. “Can we talk?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, can we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Babe, don’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got a point, though. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why </span>
  </em>
  <span>do people say that? It’s so stupid to ask if we ‘can’ talk when you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>that I am physically capable of talking. Just --”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Herb.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb immediately stiffened and BoJack rushed to correct himself. “No, no, that came out wrong, I’m not mad, I just -- are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb further stiffened. “Of course I’m okay, why wouldn’t I be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Because you’ve been depressed for months?” suggested BoJack, gesturing with his hands. “Because you’re putting </span>
  <em>
    <span>no </span>
  </em>
  <span>effort into getting better? Because the last time you were spiraling out of control the thing that made me realise you needed help was when a friend of ours needed help and you just sat here while I dealt with it, and now a friend of ours needed help and you just sat here while I dealt with it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb frowned. “Diane needed help? I thought you were just going to visit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was, but while I was there I ended up helping her. And you didn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>offer </span>
  </em>
  <span>to come with me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb fidgeted with a loose thread on the couch, biting his lip. “Well, I mean, Diane’s spare room only has a single bed. It would have been a pain in the ass for us to both go, and have to book a hotel. And…” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “You know big routine changes make me anxious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but me leaving was </span>
  <em>
    <span>also </span>
  </em>
  <span>a sudden routine change, so how much worse could it have been?” He frowned. “Was this a mistake?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was </span>
  <em>
    <span>what </span>
  </em>
  <span>a mistake?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Visiting Diane. I mean, I know you </span>
  <em>
    <span>said </span>
  </em>
  <span>you’d be okay here by yourself, but I made you say that. Was it selfish of me to believe you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No! I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>okay.” He grinned. “You really think that if I watch a TV show </span>
  <em>
    <span>once, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it means that’s all I’ve been doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack hesitated, then relented. “Yeah, you’re right. I was jumping to conclusions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But … you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>okay, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a long, painful silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” began Herb. “I mean, I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>okay…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you’re not okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Things could be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot </span>
  </em>
  <span>worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Things could be a lot </span>
  <em>
    <span>better, </span>
  </em>
  <span>too.” He groaned. “Have you been doing what your therapist says?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb’s features immediately harden. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate </span>
  </em>
  <span>her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know, you keep saying. I used to say the same shit about mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You still do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I do, she’s annoying as shit! But seriously, it’s actually kinda funny, you know? Just listening to you rant about how annoying it is. It’s just like, ‘do </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>sound like that?’” He ruffles what’s left of Herb’s hair. “I keep thinking, do I sound like that, all cute and irritated?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you think it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>cute </span>
  </em>
  <span>when I’m upset?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack flinches and moves his hand away. “Well, I mean, you don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually </span>
  </em>
  <span>hate her --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course </span>
  </em>
  <span>I actually hate her! Why would I be repeatedly </span>
  <em>
    <span>saying </span>
  </em>
  <span>that I hate her if I didn’t?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, I dunno. Why do I always say I hate my therapist?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you’re, well, you’re … </span>
  <em>
    <span>BoJack.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a long, painful silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Herb,” began BoJack cautiously. “Why do you hate your therapist?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>listen.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He clenched his fist in frustration. “When I’m with her, I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall! She can’t even remember what I’m there for in the first place, every session I have to recap shit I’ve already said. And when I try to explain how the stuff she suggests hasn’t really been working out for me, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>totally </span>
  </em>
  <span>shuts me down. She says that it works for </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>her clients, and if it doesn’t help me then I just must not be putting the effort in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s stupid.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>works for everyone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know! I just -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>ugh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m ready to give up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack’s face fell. “That seems drastic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drastic? The whole point of going is to get better and it’s only making me feel worse. It makes no sense to keep going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you just need to give it time?” suggested BoJack. “I mean, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>a professional--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s a professional who I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>hiring </span>
  </em>
  <span>to help me, and she’s not doing that.” He sighed. “Did I tell you, about the shit she pulled last session?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think so. You ranted a lot about how it was stupid bullshit but never specified how.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t think so.” He took a deep breath. “So, background info, a few weeks back I mentioned in therapy that I feel like I was just born broken. And she asked me why I felt that way, and I said I didn’t know, so she told me to try and figure it out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate </span>
  </em>
  <span>when they give you homework.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly!” He threw up his hands. “It’s meant to be an hour a week, not my whole goddamn life. So then, last week, I was standing in the kitchen, making toast, when suddenly, I remembered that she’d told me to do that. And then I thought, ‘God, why does she give me homework? This is therapy, not fourth grade art class’. And then it hit me!” His eyes widened in an imitation of his past self. “I got bullied in elementary school!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack narrowed his eyes. “By who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...BJ, you can’t beat up my elementary school classmates over shit they did fifty years ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I know, I would <em>never </em>try to beat them up. I might just try to have a nice <em>chat </em>with them … maybe a slightly violent chat. Who hurt you? Tell me where they live.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know! Why would I know the address of someone I had a class with fifty years ago? God, this is why I didn’t tell you when I first had this revelation.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, the thing is, grade school kids don’t have anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong </span>
  </em>
  <span>with them, you know? I didn’t even know I was gay yet, so I didn’t have anything else to blame. So I sorta just internalised the idea that the problem was … </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack gulped. “And what did your therapist say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, just some bullshit about how that </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>be it because it was half a century ago.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I mean, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>half a century ago…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a formative experience that taught me I was inherently unlikable! I really think it messed me up. And, I never took the time to process it or even consider that it could have affected me, so it’s still hurting me now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah, you sure I can’t beat those kids up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re not kids anymore. And, no.” He sighed. “I just -- therapy isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>working </span>
  </em>
  <span>for me. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>it’s not working. Why am I still doing it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just…” He hesitated. “You just ended up with a shitty therapist, that’s all. You should try switching to a new one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...No.” He wrapped his arms around himself protectively. “I don’t want to do the same bullshit again with a new person. What’s the point?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Babe, you can’t let </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>bad experience stop you from getting therapy at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know. It’s just…” He took a deep breath. “How am I supposed to learn to ask for help, when every time I try it blows up in my face?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I don’t know.” He sighed. “Look, if -- if you don’t want to do therapy, I’m not going to force you to, okay? You can wait until you’re ready. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb gave him an expectant look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’ve been thinking, and, uh -- Diane’s on antidepressants.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb smirked. “Yeah, sure, just go ahead and give me Diane’s medical information.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, she doesn’t have to know. And, well, I was just thinking, if you’re still feeling depressed, then maybe you should try…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Medication?” He thought for a moment, then frowned. “But, what if it causes weird side effects? I mean, you know I react kinda weirdly to drugs. Remember that time I got high at a party and freaked the hell out because the music was loud?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s … that’s different. You’ll have a psychiatrist who can make sure you take the right stuff. And if the side effects mess you up, you can just stop taking them.” He gave a small smile. “Think about it, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah, I’ll think about it.” Weirdly, he actually intended on doing so.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>He shakes his head as he tosses an apple core into a nearby trash bin. That, weirdly, was also not funny. None of these </span>
  <em>
    <span>hilarious </span>
  </em>
  <span>miscommunications are actually very funny in practice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stomach is hurting, for some reason -- probably the remnants of that stomach flu from a week ago that he somehow managed to get without leaving the house, or passing it on to BoJack for that matter -- so he goes back to the bathroom to grab a panadol. Then he pauses, because mixing drugs is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad idea.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, painkillers aren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>drugs. </span>
  </em>
  <span>They’re drugs, but they’re not </span>
  <em>
    <span>drugs, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and the chances that they’ll react badly with his antidepressants are pretty low. And besides, everyone takes panadol sometimes, so if it was likely to cause problems, his psychiatrist would have had to mention it, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Did </span>
  </em>
  <span>his psychiatrist mention it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head. These meds are more trouble than they’re worth. But, BoJack once poured a concerningly large amount of miscellaneous pills into a bowl, then poured some alcohol in, and ate the resulting mixture with a spoon, like cereal. And he wasn’t even hungover the next day! If BoJack could survive </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>then Herb could survive mixing prescribed pills with over-the-counter ones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb tries to think of another </span>
  <em>
    <span>hilarious </span>
  </em>
  <span>misunderstanding. He can only think of one incident.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>His eyes were wide and shining, excited to hear the verdict. He had poured his heart and soul into that first chapter, and BoJack surely </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. “So, it’s good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good?” scoffs BoJack. “Well, I mean, it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>good, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but -- it’s good </span>
  <em>
    <span>enough.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb’s face fell. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, don’t get me wrong, you’re no Shakespeare, like you said. But hey, if you just want to check off the box and be able to </span>
  <em>
    <span>say </span>
  </em>
  <span>you’re a published author, this is </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect! </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>good enough to get published, but not too high-effort.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...So, it’s bad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It only took a quick glance at Herb’s quivering lip for BoJack to go back on his words. “Well, I mean, it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Like, it’s -- it’s not good, but it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>meant </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be good, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yes, it is. Why would I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>it to be…” He gulped. “Why would I want it to be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>piece of shit?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Wait, so it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>supposed to be bad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb, unsurprisingly, burst into tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh shit. It’s -- it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>bad!” He pulled Herb’s shuddering shoulders toward him. “It’s, it’s a little rough around the edges, but -- maybe it just needs editing! I’ll, I’ll help you proofread, it’s not a piece of shit, it just needs a little work, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>please stop crying --”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>know it doesn’t make me feel any better when you freak out and tell me to stop crying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cut me some slack, I’m trying here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb sniffled and wiped his eyes. “I mean, I guess I could edit it. It’s just the first draft. It doesn’t have to be perfect yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See! It’s not a big deal. You can make it better!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Why weren’t you taking </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>book seriously?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack frowned. “Hey, don’t get mad at me, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not mad. I just think it’s kinda shitty that you told me </span>
  <em>
    <span>to my face </span>
  </em>
  <span>that my book was shitty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>used the word shitty! It’s not as bad as shit. I’d say it’s more like piss.” At Herb’s offended look, he quickly added, “I’m sorry, I -- I just misinterpreted how much </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>cared about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How could you </span>
  <em>
    <span>possibly </span>
  </em>
  <span>misinterpret that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just thought you only wanted to do it so you could </span>
  <em>
    <span>technically </span>
  </em>
  <span>be an author! Like my autobiography.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...The one you’ve been ‘intending’ to start writing for the last five months?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m still deciding what font to use. And hey, you didn’t exactly take it seriously yourself!” He gestured at the laptop screen, which was still displaying the final page of the first chapter. “I mean, you wrote five thousand words here, and not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>single </span>
  </em>
  <span>metaphor? Not even, like, a simile? For the love of God, this paragraph literally starts with ‘Basil’s parents had been murdered when he was four, and that made him feel sad.’ You think that’s all he’s got to say about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Your parents being murdered </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>make you feel sad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>it makes you feel? And … come on, was this </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>meant to be your magnum opus as a writer? You literally outright said before that you’re not Shakespeare.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m not Shakespeare! I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kazzaz.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack’s eyes widened. “Wait, what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“William Shakespeare was a real guy that wrote a bunch of plays. He died in 1616! That was hundreds of years before I was even </span>
  <em>
    <span>born. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He is </span>
  <em>
    <span>clearly </span>
  </em>
  <span>not me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a long, painful silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” said BoJack. “You’re telling me that when you said you’re ‘not Shakespeare’, you didn’t mean it in the sense that you’re not a great author, but instead in the sense that you and William Shakespeare are literally different people?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb nodded meekly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why?!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>choked BoJack. “That makes </span>
  <em>
    <span>no </span>
  </em>
  <span>sense. Did -- Did you think I somehow thought that you </span>
  <em>
    <span>were </span>
  </em>
  <span>the same person as Shakespeare?! Why would you have </span>
  <em>
    <span>possibly </span>
  </em>
  <span>felt the need to specify that you were literally not Shakespeare?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I dunno.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack smacked himself in the forehead. “Oh my God. I have to go and bang my head against a brick wall repeatedly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This house has drywall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Cool. I’m going to go and bang my head into it repeatedly.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>That one, he almost thinks to himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>kinda funny. Why exactly did he feel the need to specify that he wasn’t literally William Shakespeare, again? It was too long ago for him to remember the context. Still, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>pretty funny. And now that this new book he’s supposedly writing is meant to be a comedy, he should add it, right? To make it funny?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, he remembers the absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>crushing </span>
  </em>
  <span>disappointment he felt when BoJack first failed to tell him that it was an amazing first chapter, and suddenly the idea of putting it out into the world where other people can laugh about how </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid </span>
  </em>
  <span>he is makes him feel nauseous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, it won’t be </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the book that says something stupid and gets upset when the other characters don’t take it literally. It doesn’t even have to be a character based on him, really. He could even go in the complete opposite direction and choose the character </span>
  <em>
    <span>least </span>
  </em>
  <span>like him, for the gag. The one that’s a heterophobic caricature of a straight girl, designed to absorb all of the readers’ hate. She seems stupid enough for the joke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It still just feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He gulps down a cup of water, frowning. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s not like he’s never used his own suffering for a cheap gag when he was feeling too lazy to think up something original -- the punchline of the last chapter was the main character saying, in complete deadpan, that his parents disowned him for being gay -- but, well, that feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>different. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There’s a difference between laughing at the bad things that have happened to him and the stupid things he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>done.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he supposes. It’s not like he can’t take a joke at his own expense. Sometimes it feels like every other word that comes out of BoJack’s mouth is a quip about some stupid thing he did in 2007, or a reminder that he’s bad at math, or some uncreative joke where the punchline is that he’s short. And that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine, </span>
  </em>
  <span>because BoJack doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean </span>
  </em>
  <span>any of it, and honestly, sometimes it’s a little reassuring to know that BoJack knows and acknowledges all of his many flaws and loves him anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing is, he doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>publish </span>
  </em>
  <span>jokes at his own expense. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Who </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>if the strangers laughing at his self-induced suffering are doing it </span>
  <em>
    <span>with </span>
  </em>
  <span>him, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>at </span>
  </em>
  <span>him? He can’t tell if it’s more like when he made that </span>
  <em>
    <span>great </span>
  </em>
  <span>joke about Romeo Montague’s dick in tenth grade English that was so funny even the teacher laughed, and he was absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>beaming </span>
  </em>
  <span>with pride at the thought that he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>clever </span>
  </em>
  <span>enough to impress the adults, or if it’s closer to that time in first grade English when he was halfway through explaining what a comma was when some random kid started laughing at him, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>found out what the big joke was, so he had to assume it was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows it’s stupid. But what else is he meant to assume? It wasn’t like there was anything else to blame, any convenient scapegoat that applied during elementary school. He wasn’t fat then, or gay, or otherwise </span>
  <em>
    <span>different; </span>
  </em>
  <span>he was just a kid, just a <em>person,</em> and apparently he had failed at being that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, whatever it was, he grew out of at some point -- and for the life of him he can’t remember if that happened naturally or if he had to consciously change his behaviour to fit in -- and in middle school, he had actual </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends, </span>
  </em>
  <span>loads of them. And, sure, at some point in high school he got outed and most of them turned on him, but then he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>why they hated him, instead of being left to assume it was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Time’s arrow marched on. Herb’s not sure if he really moved with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, everything’s funny until it’s not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a deep breath and goes back to the bedroom. BoJack has evidently stopped trying to sleep and woken up a little more in his absence, because he’s giving him an expectant look. “Did you get that glass of water?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Oh, shit.” He smacks himself in the forehead. “I’ll be right back.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Overfull Bucket</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>COVID-related restrictions start to lift. Herb is ready to get back to L.A. but BoJack wants to move to Connecticut permanently; Princess Carolyn reunites with Judah after the lockdown.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He carelessly tosses a plastic cup into the cupboard, where it probably breaks several glasses, a problem which he ignores in the hope that it will go away on its own. When Herb gives him </span>
  <em>
    <span>that look, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the one that silently communicates that he should probably investigate the sound of breaking glass from behind the cupboard door, he gives an exaggerated sigh and pouts. “It’s not like we’ll need to have functional cupboards in </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>house when we’re leaving soon anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>that we’re leaving soon,” Herb reminds him irritably. “The restrictions might have to come back before we can leave. And, we’re presumably coming back here at some point for your work, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but I’m lazy. So we’ll just leave the broken glass in the bottom of the cupboard.” He stretches his arms out above his head. “You know what I’m gonna do, when we’re back in L.A.?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno. I was hoping you’d know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb snickers. “Why would </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>know what </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, I dunno. You know me pretty well?” He shrugs. “I mean, we’re still meant to be social distancing, so really, we’re probably going to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>at home.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb doesn’t respond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seems pretty stupid, huh?” BoJack continues. “You know, not bothering to care about our living space, packing, paying for plane tickets, so we can just sit around doing nothing in a different state? When we’ll have to move back here in a few months anyway?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb eyes him cautiously. “Yeah,” he finally says. “It’s pretty stupid. Almost as stupid as the way you’re oh-so-</span>
  <em>
    <span>subtly </span>
  </em>
  <span>hinting that you want to stay here instead of just saying it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack freezes for a second. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Busted. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Well, he should have expected as much. Subtlety isn’t exactly his strong suit. “I’m just saying, well… It </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>seem stupid to go back to L.A. for, what, a month? Just so we can go back here again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have friends in L.A.,” says Herb, somewhat defensively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are we gonna do with them that we can’t do over the phone? In fact, what are we gonna do with them that we don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to do over the phone?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I don’t know. Why? Do you want us to stay here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well…” He gestures vaguely, grimacing. “I mean, we don’t really </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>to own two houses, do we? Seems kinda, I dunno, flaunting our richness.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think that’s frivolous? We’ve still got that boat you bought three years ago to avoid admitting you were running from your problems.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but -- people don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>boats. There are people that are homeless, and we’ve got this giant-ass house in L.A. that we’re not even living in, that we have to keep because we might want to go there for a few months? Seems stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb narrows his eyes. “Since when do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>care about homeless people?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you’re trying to persuade me.” It’s not a question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to stay here, anyway?” He frowns. “I mean, you said it yourself, this whole thing is temporary. You only took the teaching job to make Tawnie happy, because that would make Hollyhock happy by extension.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but … it’s growing on me, okay?” He crosses his arms stubbornly. “This, this whole teaching thing, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>stupid, but -- God, I don’t know how to say this without sounding all soppy and dumb -- it feels like I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>helping </span>
  </em>
  <span>people. You know? I feel like I’m actually making a difference in the lives of the people around me, and …” He sighs. “This is the happiest I’ve been in years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...So, you want to keep teaching after Tawnie and Hollyhock graduate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh. Yeah?” He gives a nervous smile. “Is that … okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it </span>
  <em>
    <span>okay </span>
  </em>
  <span>for you to continue doing something that makes both you and the people around you happier and healthier?” snarks Herb. “Geez, I dunno. Can I phone a friend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack breathes an audible sigh of relief. “Just checking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But … it’s not growing on </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He folds his arms over his body protectively. “Connecticut, I mean. I can stay here for you, while you’re teaching, but … I don’t want to move here permanently. Not yet, at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack’s face falls. “Come on, babe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the problem?” says Herb defensively. “You said you just wanted to keep teaching here. We can stay here during the school term and move back to L.A. in the holidays. I don’t see the problem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The </span>
  <em>
    <span>problem,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>explains BoJack. “Is that when you first moved in with me, it took you, like, a year to get </span>
  <em>
    <span>used </span>
  </em>
  <span>to it. And I don’t want you to end up in some </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing </span>
  </em>
  <span>where you never really </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>like you’re at home, because you’re always moving around before you can get used to being anywhere.” He gives his best puppy-dog eyes. “Just give Connecticut a few more months, okay? If you still prefer L.A. by the end of next semester, then we’ll keep owning two houses like rich assholes and keep moving every couple months. But can we just stay here, for a few more months?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb hesitates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You might have a point,” he finally says. “About me needing to give Connecticut more time, I mean. But… this isn’t really a good climate to stay for </span>
  <em>
    <span>a few more months, </span>
  </em>
  <span>is it? We could go into lockdown again at any moment. I don’t want to be stuck here indefinitely again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...” BoJack sighs. “Okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, after this whole COVID thing is over, and we know we’re not just going to go into lockdown with no warning…” He hesitates. “I’ll think about it then, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack smiles. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And, you should </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>check if any of those cups are broken.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Eh, I’ll do it later.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>It’s not necessarily a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad </span>
  </em>
  <span>apartment, not by any stretch of the imagination. She’s been in much worse houses. The walls aren’t visibly peeling and cracking as a constant warning that they may decide to fail her completely in a strong storm, the electricity works consistently and without giving her an electricity bill that threatens to destroy her wallet, and, most importantly, she knows she’s not at risk of being thrown out if she can’t grow up very quickly and teach herself how to make mushroom risotto in the immediate future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s just that, well, it’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>of a place to be trapped in for weeks on end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judah evidently feels the same way, or perhaps he just hasn’t let the pandemic disrupt his natural habits of waking early, because he’s at the office by the time she is. There’s a spray bottle of a white liquid in his hand and he takes a step back, almost on instinct, when she enters the room. “I’ve sanitised all potential high-contact surfaces to avoid spreading the coronavirus if anyone here is unknowingly infected, but I still believe it may be wise to invest in a second computer for this office so that we don’t have to share one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice to see you too,” snarks Princess Carolyn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not believe that I mentioned my own relief at being able to see you in person again, although I am glad you were able to infer it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I -- I was being sarcastic.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “What I meant was, maybe people would like you better if you tried saying ‘hello’ when you first see them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” says Judah flatly. “I generally prefer to limit my verbal communication to the transfer of practical information.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m alarmed,” says Judah in his least alarmed voice. “It strikes me as almost impossible for you to have known me for as long as you have without having noticed a very obvious facet of my personality.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn gives him a blank stare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I now understand that you were once again using sarcasm,” says Judah after a pause. “Please forgive my misunderstanding. I would recommend that you make use of the hand sanitizer that I have placed on the desk.” He gestures to a hand sanitizer dispenser, which Princess Carolyn quickly uses to rub her hands clean, just to be on the safe side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s my fault,” she insists, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ve spent so long only talking to you via email that I forgot how you can, uh, take things a little literally sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, I take things very literally, all of the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yes. Like that.” She takes a deep breath. This is going to be a long day. “Do you know if there’s anything that needs done yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As I previously stated, I feel that it may be beneficial to invest in a second computer for this office in order to aid in social distancing,” he explains. “I was unsure whether to touch your computer as, given the current climate, it is recommended to not share electronic devices.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you can use it. I won’t touch it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judah nods slightly at this, then turns the computer on. Princess Carolyn isn’t sure what to say, so she just watches him silently. She watches as his precise fingers type in a username and password, with a rather impressive speed -- what’s Judah’s typing speed, how many words per minute? He seems like the sort of person who would know his own typing speed. She should probably ask him, then, but he might then ask in response why she wants to know, and, well, why </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>she want to know? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have no tasks to be completed at the moment,” says Judah. “It is likely that we will have less work to do for a while, considering how many projects have been halted or cancelled due to the pandemic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” says Princess Carolyn. “Has Herb Kazzaz said anything new about the book he’s supposedly writing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, our most recent message from him has already been read.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Oh.” She frowns. “So what do we do now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose that we now have some leisure time in which we can just talk to each other about a variety of topics.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn is almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>impressed </span>
  </em>
  <span>by his ability to turn sitting and chatting into a formal affair. “Well, I guess I do have some things I might want to ask you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Such as?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn becomes acutely aware of the fact that she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>anxious. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She can’t tell if that’s because she’s unused to social interaction after a few weeks of isolation, or because what she’s about to ask is pushing boundaries and Judah would be justified in thinking she’s rude. There’s a possible third explanation that she considers briefly. She quickly un-considers it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, uh … is there a </span>
  <em>
    <span>reason </span>
  </em>
  <span>you act, so, uh … like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Judah is offended, he certainly doesn’t show it. She wonders how he would show it, if he was. “Please elaborate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I mean … you always talk in the same one of voice, you don’t say ‘hi’ or anything else that isn’t strictly necessary to say, and you interpret </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything </span>
  </em>
  <span>I say too literally --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would argue that I do not,” argues Judah flatly. “Many of the things you say are intended to be interpreted literally, with little to no hyperbolic or symbolic meanings, and thus it is impossible to interpret them </span>
  <em>
    <span>too </span>
  </em>
  <span>literally.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn gives him a blank stare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I see now that I just demonstrated my tendency to interpret things you say in an unnecessarily literal manner.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” She draws in a deep breath through gritted teeth. She hesitates, then decides to bite the bullet -- she luckily decides not to vocalise this thought. “Are you autistic?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” answers Judah nonchalantly, and that’s all he has to say on the matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...You’re not going to elaborate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did not realise that elaboration was necessary,” he explains. “I believed it to be a yes-or-no question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...You </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>take things literally, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do.” Luckily, this time he neglects to mention that she already knew this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, uh … do you get jokes?” She chuckles nervously, </span>
  <em>
    <span>why is she nervous? </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I mean, if I make a joke, will you understand that it’s a joke, or will you take it literally?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m offended,” says Judah in his least offended voice. “Of course I am capable of understanding humour just like anybody else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn smirks. “So, did you hear the one about the autistic kleptomaniac?”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Wakey wakey, lemon shakey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s this that finally manages to produce a response -- apart from the generic </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave me alone </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>just five more minutes </span>
  </em>
  <span>moans that he’s been getting for the past three goddamn hours. “Mmph, Todd?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not Todd. I was just on the phone with him earlier and now I can’t stop talking like an idiot.” He grips Herb’s shoulder and forces him to roll over. “Babe, you gotta get up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, just five more minutes, I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been saying that for the past </span>
  <em>
    <span>three hours,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>BoJack almost snarls, frustration at a peak. “It’s past ten AM. Wake up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, really?” He half-opens his eyes and sleepily reaches out to grab his phone from the nightstand. “...Ah, shit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you stay up late last night?” asks BoJack. His frustration is ebbing away, replaced by perhaps a tinge of concern. “You normally wake up easier than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb’s only response to this is to groan, say, “Ugh,” and roll back over onto his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, it looks to me like you’re going to be in bed for a while longer, so I’m going to go and make you some breakfast. What do you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, I dunno.” He pulls a pillow over his head. BoJack takes it out of his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He narrows his eyes. “Are you depressed, or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I just feel like </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I barely slept, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ugh, </span>
  </em>
  <span>BJ, come </span>
  <em>
    <span>on, </span>
  </em>
  <span>just another half hour and I’ll be up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I highly doubt that.” He tugs on Herb’s shoulder. “Come on, baby, we’ve gotta do shit today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, like what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re packing, remember? So we can go back to L.A., which </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>wanted to do. So tell me what you want for breakfast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this, Herb finally makes a serious attempt at sitting up, and rubs his eyes in an attempt to get them to stay open. “Mmph, what food do we have in the house?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh… I can make omelettes, I guess. Or toast?” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I was going to go shopping but I wanted to wait for you to get up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>like omelettes or toast.” He manages to sit up properly. “Can we order a pizza?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...For </span>
  <em>
    <span>breakfast?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s nearly lunchtime, so … for brunch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, okay, I guess. But you have to order it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb stiffens. “No way, I don’t want to make a phone call.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither do I! And I’ve been running around crazy all morning trying to get read while you were asleep. Order your own goddamn pizza.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, come </span>
  <em>
    <span>on, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I just woke up. I don’t want to call the goddamn pizza place up myself! And I don’t even know what kind of pizza I want.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, figure it out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb, as answer, lies back down and pulls the pillow back over his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, for </span>
  <em>
    <span>God’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>sake.” He hesitates, then cautiously sits down on the bed next to Herb, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. “Okay, it’s obvious something’s wrong. Spill it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing’s wrong,” murmurs Herb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you take your meds last night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm-hmm.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why won’t you get out of bed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’m sick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack narrows his eyes. “Are you doing some </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing </span>
  </em>
  <span>where you pretend to be sick at the last possible minute so we don’t have to go back to California?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No! I </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to go back.” He moves the pillow away from his head, frowning. “Wait, were </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>planning on faking being sick to get out of going home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...But did you think about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yes. But, I realised it’d be a dick move. Do you want me to order that pizza?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, don’t bother.” He rolls over onto his side. “I don’t want to eat. My stomach hurts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Again? Seriously?” He groans. “Did you give yourself </span>
  <em>
    <span>another </span>
  </em>
  <span>stomach flu, without having contact with anyone except me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my God.” He smacks himself in the forehead. “I don’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>how </span>
  </em>
  <span>you keep getting sick."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long, ominous silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” croaks Herb. “you do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack’s heart skips a beat. Every instinct he has is telling him to get up now and leave the room under the pretense of removing broken glass from the bottom of a cupboard somewhere, and leave the entire exchange in the overfull bucket of things he ignores in the hope that they’ll go away on their own. Instead, he gulps back whatever fear he may have, and takes a deep breath. In, out. In, out. For a few moments, he lets himself think that it’s just him, his idiot husband who slept in, and his own calm breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, he opens his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you,” he begins uncertainly, avoiding looking at Herb. “do you think that maybe, there’s a chance that it might be…” He gulps. “Do you think it could be a cancer recurrence?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way Herb’s breathing picks up at the mere </span>
  <em>
    <span>mention </span>
  </em>
  <span>of it seems to be answer enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m scared, BJ.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too.” He wraps his arms around him. “But, it’s gonna be okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...</span>
  <em>
    <span>How?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I don’t know. But you’re going to be okay.” He squeezes Herb tighter and takes a deep breath. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be okay.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Taking Things, Literally</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>BoJack and Herb struggle to cope. Judah takes things too literally.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>short chapter today because I had an autistic meltdown at work last night and I still feel like shit over it</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I have had the </span>
  <em>
    <span>worst </span>
  </em>
  <span>week. Okay?” He groans loudly as he continues to pace around, waving frantically the arm that isn’t holding the phone. “Do you want to hear how my week’s been?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t--” begins Princess Carolyn, but he’s halfway into a rant before she can finish the sentence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Monday,” he begins. “I slept in because I’m a lazy asshole, and then I broke a bunch of glass throwing cups into the cupboard. Herb told me to clean it up, but I didn’t, because I’m a lazy asshole. Then, Herb and I had a mini-fight because I wanted to stay in Connecticut and he’s all homesick and shit, like some sort of soppy sentimental idiot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m standing right here,” says Herb defensively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then stand somewhere else.” He clears his throat. “So then, Tuesday, I wanted fast food, but then I thought, oh, no, I should stay home, we’re still in a pandemic. So instead of actually making food I sat around wanting food for a while until Herb suggested ordering something, but then, you see, the only thing I actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>was stuff where I would have had to call them up because they don’t have an option to order online.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I hate when they do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know! It’s like, get with the times, nobody uses the phone anymore.” Herb raises an eyebrow; BoJack continues to rant into the phone. “So then, Herb and I spent over an hour trying to figure out which of us should call the stupid place up, because we both have social anxiety and we share a single brain cell. We tried </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything -- </span>
  </em>
  <span>flipping a coin, rock-paper-scissors, Todd schemes, you name it. Eventually we got so bored with the whole argument that we invited Hollyhock over and offered to let her have some if she called them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...And that meant you had a shitty week?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t finished.” He sighs. “So, Wednesday, we were meant to start packing to go back to L.A., except Herb slept in till past goddamn ten. So then I wake him up myself to make sure he’s not in a goddamn coma, and turns out, he was sick </span>
  <em>
    <span>again. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And </span>
  <em>
    <span>then, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he told me that he thought the cancer might be back, which, you know, could slowly kill him over the course of several painful months, so that’s a whole thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn pauses. “I feel like that’s not even </span>
  <em>
    <span>remotely </span>
  </em>
  <span>comparable to the rest of your petty problems.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thursday,” he continues. “I cut my hand up real bad on the broken glass that I left in the cupboard on Monday because I’m a lazy asshole. And then today, on Friday, which is the current day, just to cap off this </span>
  <em>
    <span>tremendously </span>
  </em>
  <span>horrible day, I get an email asking if I want to drag my stupid ass back to L.A. so I can be the lead in a movie advertised as ‘what if </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rain Man </span>
  </em>
  <span>was a bankrobber?’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long, painful silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to take the role,” says Princess Carolyn, somewhat defensively. “I mean, I didn’t know you had so much going on right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, but -- ugh, it’s just so </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he complains, continuing to pace. “Like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>are you making a movie about a savant that robs banks? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who </span>
  </em>
  <span>asked that question?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It, uh…” She chuckles nervously. “The idea actually came from a bit of a miscommunication between some workers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A third voice jumps into the conversation and says in an unusually flat tone, “I take full responsibility for the situation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my God, Judah?” exclaims Herb, standing up and moving closer to the phone. “I haven’t talked to you in </span>
  <em>
    <span>ages! </span>
  </em>
  <span>I meant to get your phone number before we left L.A. but I never had the chance.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is nice to have a chance to talk to you again,” says Judah flatly. “Although, I must say, I have found your recent Twitter argument with Bradley Hitler-Smith to be highly questionable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, you too? I swear to God, you guys are all starting a goddamn witch hunt against me. And Ethan is </span>
  <em>
    <span>canonically </span>
  </em>
  <span>unvaccinated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack clears his throat abnormally loudly. “So, how did this movie end up becoming a thing anyway?” </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Judah carefully adjusted the thin stack of pages in his hand, making sure the edges of the paper were perfectly aligned. “I’m in the process of finding a script-writer who would be willing to flesh out this movie idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn narrowed her eyes. “What movie idea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The one that you suggested to me on Tuesday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I didn’t suggest any ideas on Tuesday.” She frowned and took the paper from his hands, glancing down at the text. “This is …” She purred in satisfaction. “Actually pretty creative, but where did the idea come from?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On Tuesday, shortly after you came into the office,” he explained. “We had no tasks to complete and so decided to engage in conversation about a variety of topics. You asked if I had heard, quote, ‘the one about the autistic kleptomaniac’. I had not, so I decided to go ahead and turn it into a movie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a long, painful silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Judah…” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You misinterpreted that </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>badly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please elaborate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>joke.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>She just barely resisted the urge to slam her head onto the desk. “It was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>joke, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Judah, not an idea pitch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” He dusted down his suit. “I’m afraid I do not understand. What was the punchline of the joke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The autistic kleptomaniac,” she managed to get out between her exasperated sighs. “He always took things, literally.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I am now able to grasp the irony of the situation.” He took the pages back. “Would you like me to cease my work on this movie in order to focus on other projects?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I mean, we don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>a movie about -- actually, you know what?” She smiled. “Go ahead with it. Who knows? Maybe it’ll end up being a dark horse success.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Herb frowns. “But BJ’s fur isn’t even that dark.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack takes a deep breath. “You two share a brain cell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>what it means, you dolt, I’m just being a smartass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, don’t be a smartass. Judah will take it literally.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should warn you that that’s a genuine risk in any conversation with me,” adds Judah.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack sighs. “Look, I’m really sorry, but I can’t take this role. We’re still in Connecticut at the moment and we’re gonna have to stay here at least until Herb can run some tests. Also, Herb probably won’t let me because he’s probably offended you didn’t ask him to be a writer for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am!” protests Herb indignantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn groans. “People are literally calling you Ableism Kazzaz and you want to write about an autistic character?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack clears his throat abnormally loudly. “Okay, before you two start fighting over Bradley and Herb’s kin drama, I can’t do the role. So, uh, good luck finding someone else. Bye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hangs up. There’s a long, ominous silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What time is it?” asks BoJack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb checks his phone. “Around eleven. What do you want for lunch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Eh, I’m not hungry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb swears his heart skips a beat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” says BoJack defensively. “Isn’t a guy allowed to not be hungry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you eat breakfast?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“BJ, </span>
  <em>
    <span>eat.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s not a request but a command, and he knows even as he’s saying it that it’s too harsh, but he doesn’t have the energy to put it into kinder words. “I get that this whole thing is stressing you out, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>please </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t relapse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserve </span>
  </em>
  <span>food.” It comes out as a low croak. “This is all my fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>to indicate that this could </span>
  <em>
    <span>possibly </span>
  </em>
  <span>be your fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you kidding?” He takes a seat on a large plush armchair, basically </span>
  <em>
    <span>collapsing </span>
  </em>
  <span>into it. “I smoke all the goddamn time. I didn’t even quit after the first time you nearly died of cancer! I basically have your blood on my hands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“BJ, no. Blaming yourself won’t help anything.” He pauses. “Also, how the hell do you think your cigarette smoke ended up in my ass?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, I dunno. Magic?” He groans. “Can I </span>
  <em>
    <span>please </span>
  </em>
  <span>just not eat today? I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>totally </span>
  </em>
  <span>back on my bullshit yet. It’s just a cheat day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...’Cheat day’,” repeats Herb, narrowing his eyes. “You know what that reminds me of?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Back before you first went to rehab, when you tried to quit drinking gradually with your own </span>
  <em>
    <span>systems. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And then, every time, you would give yourself a ‘cheat day’, which would then become every day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” says BoJack. “I wonder if that’s connected to me claiming that not eating when I’m stressed is just having a ‘cheat day’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“BJ, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please </span>
  </em>
  <span>just eat something.” He places a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>well for more than a year now and I don’t want you to lose all that progress.” BoJack avoided looking at him, frowning deeply. “Would it help if I made something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-No. God no. Fine, I’ll make food, just -- don’t goddamn </span>
  <em>
    <span>baby </span>
  </em>
  <span>me.” He stands up. “God, why can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>just be about you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb flinches. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This, this whole thing, it just -- ugh.” He slams his head against a wall. “You didn’t care about how the whole thing where you might be </span>
  <em>
    <span>dying </span>
  </em>
  <span>could affect us </span>
  <em>
    <span>emotionally </span>
  </em>
  <span>until </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>was upset. I wish you would just put yourself first </span>
  <em>
    <span>once.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, aren’t I meant to care when my husband’s upset?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack eyes him cautiously. “You seem weirdly okay with all of this. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>the one that might, you know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>die.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, I -- I survived it once, I can survive it again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>that. I, I don’t get why you’re so </span>
  <em>
    <span>calm.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He narrows his eyes. “Are you just pretending to be fine because you feel like you have to be strong for me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No! Nothing like that. It’s just …” He sighs. “I know I </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>be freaking out about this, but I’m not. I, I think it hasn’t really </span>
  <em>
    <span>registered </span>
  </em>
  <span>emotionally yet. I just feel weirdly </span>
  <em>
    <span>numb.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Really?” BoJack still seems a little suspicious. “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>fine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah. At the moment, at least.” He flashes a small smile. “And we’d better make the most of that, because soon I’m probably going to process the fact that I might be </span>
  <em>
    <span>dying </span>
  </em>
  <span>and then I’ll crash, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard.”</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>He crashes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hard. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The already close to nonexistent progress on his novel dwindles away until he’s averaging negative word counts for the day, because when he looks back at what he’s already read all he can think about is how it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect, </span>
  </em>
  <span>not quite </span>
  <em>
    <span>good enough, </span>
  </em>
  <span>because if he dies then he doesn’t want </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>piece of shit to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’s remembered for. So, he erases and deletes and rewrites every word that doesn’t live up to his standards until he’s left with </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he can’t quite find it in him to build it back from the ground up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack tries to help, he really does, but he can barely keep himself together, let alone Herb. And he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>that’s dickish of him, because this isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>about </span>
  </em>
  <span>him, but, well, what is he meant to do? How is he supposed to be keeping track of which nights Herb ends up shitfaced and how often is </span>
  <em>
    <span>too often, </span>
  </em>
  <span>when he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>had a healthy relationship with alcohol himself, and he’s too busy trying not to just grab his shit and set up camp and the nearest bar to begin his ideal life of using alcohol as a substitute for food and sleeping under a table because </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s what he deserves?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>hates </span>
  </em>
  <span>having to let Herb talk him out of some relapse or another all the goddamn time. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hates </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. It’s the only thing keeping him from flying right off the deep end and yet somehow at the same time it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>slowly </span>
  </em>
  <span>pushing him further toward it, because he knows that he’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid piece of shit </span>
  </em>
  <span>for expecting emotional support from someone who might be </span>
  <em>
    <span>dying </span>
  </em>
  <span>but what else can he do?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, it doesn’t help that Herb is, well…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb is a complete </span>
  <em>
    <span>wreck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It all goes downhill so </span>
  <em>
    <span>quickly. </span>
  </em>
  <span>One minute, he mentions being </span>
  <em>
    <span>a little anxious </span>
  </em>
  <span>about the colonoscopy, and not even a full day later he’s actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>throwing up </span>
  </em>
  <span>from sheer anxiety and he can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>anything because he’s constantly shaking. The only thing that he can keep his hands steady enough to work on for any length of time is his novel, and even that’s being taken apart faster than he can rewrite it. Every day is a new spiral of </span>
  <em>
    <span>this isn’t good enough, </span>
  </em>
  <span>which leads into a spiral of </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not good enough </span>
  </em>
  <span>that BoJack just </span>
  <em>
    <span>barely </span>
  </em>
  <span>manages to talk him out of in time for him to delete a half-finished chapter and come up with a new title, a new genre, a new plot, and a new series of completely shitty words, many of which are obviously fake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On this particular day, the word that BoJack sees when he glances at the screen that makes him look back and search through his mind to see if that’s a word that exists or he’s going crazy is “bobscavator”. He taps Herb’s shoulder to get his attention, which is necessary because his earbuds are </span>
  <em>
    <span>blasting </span>
  </em>
  <span>music so loud that BoJack can hear it from across the room -- he used to only do that after a particularly intense argument that left him quaking with rage for hours, but it’s rapidly becoming his default state -- and once an earbud has been taken out, he asks, “What’s a bobscavator?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a cross between a bobsled and an excavator,” explains Herb. “They use it because they’re mining on the moon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This raises more questions than it answers. On a good day, perhaps, BoJack would say, “Hmm,” and nod along like this is a thing that makes sense, and then go outside under the guise of a cigarette so he can laugh his ass off once he’s out of earshot. Instead, he goes outside and actually smokes the cigarette.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>funny, really, because how the hell can you write a book about mining on the moon and still not know </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>about mining, or the moon, or bobsleds? But, he can’t bring himself to laugh under the circumstances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything’s funny until it’s not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack feels like he’s drowning. Worse still, he feels like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Herb </span>
  </em>
  <span>is drowning, and he can’t do anything to keep him afloat. But, if nothing else, they have the understanding that they’re drowning together.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the "bobscavator" is an actual (fake) thing. my dad who didn't care about literature until last week and hasn't read a book in 30 years is supposedly writing a book where people mine on the moon using something called a bobscavator, which is a cross between a bobsled and an excavator. it was so awful I had to use it</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Presses Are Still Going</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Herb calls the L.A. Gazette to vent.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The phone rings absently for a few moments before he finally reaches them. “Hello, this is the </span>
  <em>
    <span>L.A. Gazette, </span>
  </em>
  <span>how can I help you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh…” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Can I get some free unlicensed therapy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In an instant the woman’s professional tone vanishes. “A friend of BoJack Horseman, I see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m his husband,” Herb confirms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll go get the closer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s some noise in the background, and then a different voice talks to him. “Hello, Herb Kazzaz.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just Herb is fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are aware that, contrary to what BoJack may have told you, I am not legally or medically qualified to give therapy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure, I’m aware of that. Can we get on with it?” He pauses, frowning. “Wait, do we have to actually talk or can you just, I dunno, rant about your job for the next hour or so while I pretend to listen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Are you calling for free therapy, or not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb grimaces and starts pacing around in the front yard. “Well, I mean, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>technically </span>
  </em>
  <span>calling for free therapy. But I don’t need therapy! I’m only doing this because BJ forced me to.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>He jumped a little at the sudden touch. A quick glance up from his laptop screen revealed that, as expected, it was just BoJack, so he removed his earbuds. He could still hear the music even as they fell onto the keyboard, and part of him knew that was probably bad for his hearing, but he was too lazy and too stubborn to turn it down. “Hey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” said BoJack. He smiled nervously. “Look, uh…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb groaned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Loving </span>
  </em>
  <span>the open-minded-ness. Could you at least listen to what I want to say before you get mad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>what you’re going to say,” snapped Herb. “You’re going to go on a long rant about how you noticed I’ve been </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>stressed lately, and you think </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe </span>
  </em>
  <span>I should give therapy another try. And then I’m gonna say I don’t want to, and you’re gonna try to persuade me that </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually </span>
  </em>
  <span>I do in a way that I’m sure has good intentions but actually comes across as really condescending, and then I’m going to pretend I have to finish this chapter so we have an excuse to end the conversation when we both know that this book is never getting done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No! </span>
  <em>
    <span>This </span>
  </em>
  <span>time I just want to -- wait, I come across as condescending?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb stared at him silently for a few moments, then raised an eyebrow. “How could it </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>come across as condescending when you act like I must be a goddamn basket case if I’m stressed about the fact that I might be </span>
  <em>
    <span>dying?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>said you were acting like a goddamn basket case. Not to your face, at least.” Herb opened his mouth to object and BoJack cut him off. “Look, here’s the idea.” He jotted down a string of numbers on a scrap piece of paper. “Back before I started doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>actual </span>
  </em>
  <span>therapy, I used to call the </span>
  <em>
    <span>L.A. Gazette </span>
  </em>
  <span>when I needed to vent and I didn’t feel like I could talk to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...The </span>
  <em>
    <span>L.A. Gazette?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>repeated Herb. “As in, the newspaper company?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, them. It was … surprisingly helpful. Just call them up and ask for ‘the closer’. And, you’re not obligated to call them again after the first time, so you don’t have to commit to it. Just … give it a go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at Herb with wide, hopeful eyes. Herb frowned. “But I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to give it a go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, baby, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He placed his hand over Herb’s, making him flinch. “It would make me feel better if I knew you had someone to talk to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb rolled his eyes. “Fine.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“So yeah, that’s why I’m calling you.” He clears his throat. “So, do you wanna rant about nothing for an hour, and then I can go back in and tell BJ I vented to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” says the closer. “Could you perhaps elaborate on what’s been causing you so much stress?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>duh, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m dying.” He pauses. “Well, I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>officially </span>
  </em>
  <span>dying yet. It’s all a little up in the air until the colonoscopy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Colonoscopy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s just some test I have to do,” he explains. “To see if the cancer’s back. Which is dumb, because I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure </span>
  </em>
  <span>it’s back, and I haven’t had contact with anyone but BJ so it can’t just be that I’m sick or something, but we have to do it anyway. To see how bad it is, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You seem very pessimistic about your health,” she observes. “Do you think there’s a possibility that you are not, in fact, dying of cancer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I mean -- yeah, I guess. But there’s no point in being blindly optimistic just because you don’t want to accept the truth.” He sighs. “If we’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>lucky, then we’ve caught it early, and we can just cut it out with surgery, no chemo needed. But I’ll probably have to do chemotherapy again. And the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing is, if we have to do chemo then we’re basically screwed no matter what, because even if I can beat the cancer, well… I’ll be immunocompromised in a pandemic. BJ and I would have to literally stay inside for months. It’d be shitty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds really hard for you to go through.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He breathes a sigh of relief. “Woah, I feel validated. Who knew venting could help so much? Well, I feel better now. Bye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Are you sure you don’t want to vent a little more?” coaxes the closer. “Perhaps relieve a little more of your cancer-related stress?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, I don’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>BJ thinks it’s stressing me out that much.” He throws up his hands in frustration. “I’ve dealt with all of this bullshit before. I can cope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, is there something else that’s been causing you distress?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long, ominous silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s honestly the </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupidest </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing,” he explains. “Basically, I’m getting accused of all sorts of stupid bullshit over a fight I had on Twitter.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Oh my God, are you witnessing this bullshit?!” He frantically gestured toward the screen while BoJack just raised an eyebrow at him. “Bradley Hitler-Smith is saying Ethan from </span>
  <em>
    <span>Horsin’ Around </span>
  </em>
  <span>is autistic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s stupid,” said BoJack calmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, right? He is </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>not vaccinated.” He hesitated, then started typing. “I’m going to argue with him about it.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The closer pauses. “But vaccines don’t cause autism.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Prove to me that they don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...You want a random employee from the </span>
  <em>
    <span>L.A. Gazette </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be personally responsible for explaining the complex science that proves vaccines do not cause autism, rather than just researching it yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighs. “So, why has this Twitter argument with Bradley Hitler-Smith been causing you so much stress?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, naturally, everyone who </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>believe vaccines cause autism is breathing down my neck about it. They’ve started calling me ‘Ableism Kazzaz’, which is a whole thing. Except the problem is, I’m trying to write a book at the moment, and the agency I’m signed on with is trying to start a movie about an autistic kleptomaniac as the main character.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Sorry, what?”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Thursday,” he continued. “I cut my hand up real bad on the broken glass that I left in the cupboard on Monday because I’m a lazy asshole. And then today, on Friday, which is the current day, just to cap off this </span>
  <em>
    <span>tremendously </span>
  </em>
  <span>horrible day, I get an email asking if I want to drag my stupid ass back to L.A. so I can be the lead in a movie advertised as ‘what if </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rain Man </span>
  </em>
  <span>was a bankrobber?’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a long, painful silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to take the role,” said Princess Carolyn, somewhat defensively. “I mean, I didn’t know you had so much going on right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, but -- ugh, it’s just so </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he complained, continuing to pace. “Like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>are you making a movie about a savant that robs banks? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who </span>
  </em>
  <span>asked that question?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It, uh…” She chuckled nervously. “The idea actually came from a bit of a miscommunication between some workers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A third voice jumped into the conversation and said in an unusually flat tone, “I take full responsibility for the situation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my God, Judah?” exclaimed Herb, standing up and moving closer to the phone. “I haven’t talked to you in </span>
  <em>
    <span>ages! </span>
  </em>
  <span>I meant to get your phone number before we left L.A. but I never had the chance.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is nice to have a chance to talk to you again,” said Judah flatly. “Although, I must say, I have found your recent Twitter argument with Bradley Hitler-Smith to be highly questionable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, you too? I swear to God, you guys are all starting a goddamn witch hunt against me. And Ethan is </span>
  <em>
    <span>canonically </span>
  </em>
  <span>unvaccinated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack cleared his throat abnormally loudly. “So, how did this movie end up becoming a thing anyway?” </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Judah carefully adjusted the thin stack of pages in his hand, making sure the edges of the paper were perfectly aligned. “I’m in the process of finding a script-writer who would be willing to flesh out this movie idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn narrowed her eyes. “What movie idea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The one that you suggested to me on Tuesday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I didn’t suggest any ideas on Tuesday.” She frowned and took the paper from his hands, glancing down at the text. “This is …” She purred in satisfaction. “Actually pretty creative, but where did the idea come from?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On Tuesday, shortly after you came into the office,” he explained. “We had no tasks to complete and so decided to engage in conversation about a variety of topics. You asked if I had heard, quote, ‘the one about the autistic kleptomaniac’. I had not, so I decided to go ahead and turn it into a movie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a long, painful silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Judah…” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You misinterpreted that </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>badly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please elaborate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>joke.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>She just barely resisted the urge to slam her head onto the desk. “It was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>joke, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Judah, not an idea pitch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” He dusted down his suit. “I’m afraid I do not understand. What was the punchline of the joke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The autistic kleptomaniac,” she managed to get out between her exasperated sighs. “He always took things, literally.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I am now able to grasp the irony of the situation.” He took the pages back. “Would you like me to cease my work on this movie in order to focus on other projects?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I mean, we don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>a movie about -- actually, you know what?” She smiled. “Go ahead with it. Who knows? Maybe it’ll end up being a dark horse success.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Herb frowned. “But BJ’s fur isn’t even that dark.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack took a deep breath. “You two share a brain cell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>what it means, you dolt, I’m just being a smartass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, don’t be a smartass. Judah will take it literally.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should warn you that that’s a genuine risk in any conversation with me,” added Judah.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Herb continues to pace around the yard. “So now PC -- she’s the head of that agency -- she doesn’t want me publicly saying ableist things and then not addressing it, otherwise autistic people might boycott the movie. And I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>going </span>
  </em>
  <span>to just write an apology post, but apparently that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>too impersonal, </span>
  </em>
  <span>so she’s trying to set up a date for me to do an interview about it. Which does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>work for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you genuinely want to right your wrongs and help fix the harm you’ve done, then you should be willing to make it work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“When </span>
  </em>
  <span>did I claim that I wanted to right my wrongs and help fix the harm I’ve done? Besides, I literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>make it work. I’ve got all sorts of bullshit medical stuff in the near future that’ll basically stop me from doing anything, and I’m not even in California.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” says the closer. “Those all seem like valid concerns. Did you try voicing these obstacles to Princess Carolyn?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but …” He sighs. “That’s not the real problem.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“So, this is the plan,” she explained over the phone, the shuffling of various papers audible in the background. “You and Diane only live thirteen hours away now, which is still quite a trip but it’s a lot easier than coming back to L.A. She’s a journalist and her boyfriend’s a photographer, so you can just work a date out with them and email me the footage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I don’t know…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do we know Diane’s gonna agree to this?” asked BoJack. “I mean, she’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>careful about social distancing, and you think she’s gonna either come to another state or let someone from Connecticut into her house?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>that she’ll agree to it, but I needed your permission before I started trying to persuade her. So what do you say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb hesitated. “...We’ll think about it.” He hung up. “I am not gonna think about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Not even a little?” asked BoJack hopefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I’ve just got too much going on right now. And …” He wilted under BoJack’s gaze, tugging on a loose thread of the couch cushion. “BJ, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>I don’t like being filmed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still think that Ollywoo was a dumb industry to join if you’re camera-shy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and America’s a dumb country to live in if you hate guns, but here I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My advice is, do the stupid interview, focus on your breathing while you’re doing it, and it’ll be over before you know it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, but no thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack sighed. “You know, I used to be anxious, too, before I started </span>
  <em>
    <span>Horsin’ Around. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But as we were filming the pilot, I realised -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>changes! You just do the same stupid bullshit you would be doing normally, except you happen to be on camera.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...’Just do the same stupid bullshit you would be doing normally’? You were adopting three human children.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but the part about the mustard sandwich was pretty realistic.” He took a seat on the couch next to him. “Point is, if you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>into it, then you’ll forget you’re on camera at all. Just act natural!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the problem,” he explained, tearing the remains of his hair out. “I can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>act natural </span>
  </em>
  <span>when there’s so much pressure! It’s like…” He sighed. “Back when I first started performing, doing stand-up, I knew that if I screwed up or made a shitty joke then everyone would forget about it soon. But now, if I screw up on camera, then there’s a record of me being an idiot, </span>
  <em>
    <span>forever. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The stakes are so much higher!” He grimaced. “Besides, it’d be </span>
  <em>
    <span>super </span>
  </em>
  <span>awkward doing the interview with Diane. I haven’t talked to her since that phone call after Sarah Lynn made us play </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mario Party.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack narrowed his eyes. “Did you two have a fight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...No. Not a fight. But, I did make things a little weird without meaning to.” </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The close waits for him to launch into a long story about this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Would you like to elaborate on your phone call with Diane?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he insists defensively. When she remains silent, he adds, “What, isn’t a guy allowed to have a little privacy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Privacy,” she echoes. “BoJack’s told me that you heavily value your right to privacy, to the point where it often puts him in a position where he has nobody to turn to for advice on how to help you best, because he can’t tell any of your mutual friends what’s going on without your permission.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb narrows his eyes. “I never said he could tell you that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was simply an anonymous newspaper employee that he called to vent about his problems. I can assure you that everything he said remained confidential.” She clears her throat. “Do you think it’s possible that your fixation on keeping any personal information between yourself and BoJack is a defense mechanism?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowns. “Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you were outed as gay in the 90s, it led to a lot of pain and suffering for you. Have you considered the possibility that in order to ensure nothing similar happens again, you developed an obsession with your own confidentiality, and a need to be in complete control of who knows your secrets and your history, even harmless facts about your past?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I dunno,” he murmurs uneasily. “Can’t it just be that I like to keep some shit to myself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That could also be an explanation. Do you want to tell me about your phone call with Diane?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long, ominous silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Did I finish telling you about how BJ forced me to call you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe you did --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, did I tell you </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>he forced me to call you?” Before she can answer, he says triumphantly, “He thinks I have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>problem!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“...What --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you gonna ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks I have a problem?”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“So, yeah, the bobscavator goes into the mine, and --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack raised an eyebrow at him, exhaling a large puff of cigarette smoke. “I don’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>what </span>
  </em>
  <span>you think a bobsled is, but I’m pretty sure you’re wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb looked defensive for a moment, and opened his mouth, ready for an explanation on the bobscavator’s existence that raises more questions than it answers. Instead, his face fell. “...Yeah, you’re right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack frowned. “Hey, it’s not all bad! It just needs a little … smoothing out. Like, what if they used a regular excavator, instead of one that was half-bobsled for no adequately explained reason?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, you were right, this whole thing is stupid. Back to the drawing board!” He started hitting backspace on the document. “At this rate, I’m gonna die of cancer before I finish the first goddamned chapter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack continued to frown at him. He breathed in some more smoke from his cigarette.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In fact,” Herb continued. “I bet </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>gonna die of cancer before I get this chapter finished! Heck, I’ll be down in Hell with you still trying to figure out what this book actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>when Ruthie comes to join us!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Woah,” said BoJack. “That was a pretty epic self-burn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb raised a hand dismissively. “You call </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>a self-burn?” Then, he smirked. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“This </span>
  </em>
  <span>is a self-burn.” With little hesitation, he snatched the cigarette from BoJack’s mouth, and shoved the lit end onto his own hand until the pain was too intense and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>to drop it. It fell to the floor, where he put it out with his sneaker, while BoJack was staring at him in stunned silence, too shocked to do anything. He looked at Herb like he wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or concerned, but he seemed to be leaning toward the latter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...You should probably go run that under cold water.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah.” He winced. “Yeah, I should.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>He takes a deep breath. “And I mean, it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I was just being a smartass. But BJ freaked out for some reason.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s normal for your loved ones to be worried about you following an incident with self-harm.” He damn near </span>
  <em>
    <span>flinches </span>
  </em>
  <span>at the word. There’s an objection resting on his tongue, a long rant about how </span>
  <em>
    <span>no, that’s not what it was, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but she starts talking again before he can start. “Have you hurt yourself on any other occasions?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No! God, no. I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>done anything like that before.” He chuckled nervously. “I don’t think it was -- a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you know? Like, I don’t think it counted as self-harm. I didn’t do it because, I dunno, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be in pain, or I thought it’d make me feel better, or anything stupid like that, I just -- I was being a smartass, okay?! It was just some stupid </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing </span>
  </em>
  <span>I did because I was being a smartass and now BJ’s walking on eggshells around me like an idiot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you do not experience any self-harming urges?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not! Well, I mean…” He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I guess sometimes when I’m pissed I want to slam my head against a wall? But then I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t, </span>
  </em>
  <span>so I don’t see how that’s a problem.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not inherently problematic to have thoughts related to dangerous actions,” she explains. “But if you allow them to go unchecked, you’re putting yourself at risk. Do you have anyone you can talk to about your recent stressful life events, to ensure that you don’t go on to harm yourself?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah, duh. What the hell do you think I’m calling you for?” He pauses. “And I can vent to other people, too. You know, like, BJ, Todd, Diane--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you made things ‘weird’ with Diane?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but …”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>He stopped pacing, frowning. He quickly glanced behind him just to make sure BoJack wasn’t listening, and then muttered, nervously, “Hey, Diane?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Diane replied over the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you ever … gone off your antidepressants? Like, cold turkey?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, once. It was shit. Why?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just, I don’t know, I…” He gulped. “I want to know what it would be like. Like, is there a withdrawal, or is that only for when you’re actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>addicted?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um. Kind of?” She sounds uncomfortable by now. “You’re, uh, you’re kinda crossing a line here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, it’s just -- it’s for my book! But, I can change it up. Forget I said anything.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“And, uh … it wasn’t for my book.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The closer pauses. “Could you elaborate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hesitates. “...I’m kinda depressed. I don’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>why, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but, a little over a year ago I just fell into this </span>
  <em>
    <span>funk </span>
  </em>
  <span>where I couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>anything. I spent half my goddamn time just watching </span>
  <em>
    <span>Horsin’ Around </span>
  </em>
  <span>with the volume turned up super loud. Eventually I started going on meds to deal with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see,” she says cautiously. “Would I be correct in inferring that, at the time of this conversation with Diane, you were considering ceasing to take your medication?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you follow through?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long, ominous silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Herb, did you stop taking your medication?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Well, since this conversation has reached its natural conclusion, I now have to hang up.” He hurriedly ends the call before she can say anything else, then leans on the outer wall of the house in Connecticut and tries to </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe. </span>
  </em>
  <span>After several long moments of just focusing on his own breathing, he finally feels ready to go back inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the look BoJack gives him, he apparently doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>look </span>
  </em>
  <span>ready to go back inside. “Woah, you look more anxious than before. You okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah,” Herb says finally. “I’m good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack still looks suspicious. “You sure you remembered your meds last night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb takes a long time to answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah, I took them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers are crossed.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Antidepressed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>BoJack is not a good person to turn to when it's three in the morning and you're upset.</p><p>But, he'll try.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Herb can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen anything resembling tears leak from BoJack’s eyes. Half of those incidents were from cutting onions, and one of the remaining incidents was a direct result of him nearly stabbing his eye out with a pencil when he was drunk. He knows that it </span>
  <em>
    <span>happens, </span>
  </em>
  <span>from the times he used to emerge from the shower with tear tracks drying on his fur and the vague stories of getting the shit beat out of him for daring to cry in front of his parents, but it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>exceptionally </span>
  </em>
  <span>rare for him to have the misfortune of witnessing it himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It still doesn’t surprise him. It catches him off guard in more ways than he can count, and he’s left mentally scrambling to think of a response, but it doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>surprise </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. He thinks a part of him knew that, regardless of the results, </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>would surely be the exception to the rule. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they get the colonoscopy results, Herb isn’t surprised to see BoJack shed a few tears. Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>relief.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You overdramatic little shit,” Herb snaps, only half-joking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack wipes his eyes and smirks at him. “What, aren’t I allowed to be happy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t get too excited. I don’t want you to jinx it.” <br/></span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“There’s no </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m gonna jinx it at this point.” Herb opens his mouth to point out that talking like that is </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely </span>
  </em>
  <span>going to jinx it but BoJack cuts him off. “Besides, we’re in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect </span>
  </em>
  <span>zone right now. Shit sucks, so the universe isn’t gonna do that thing where it sees us happy and ruins it, but it sucks in a way we can </span>
  <em>
    <span>fix, </span>
  </em>
  <span>so it’s all gonna be okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I know.” He sighs. “We got lucky. We caught it early, so we can just remove it with surgery. No chemo needed. That’s good.” He doesn’t sound as happy as he should be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack frowns. “Aren’t you glad you’re not dying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb doesn’t answer.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>He can’t remember his lines. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to dig through his mind for his mental image of the scripts, but if he manages to remember it for a second then it slips away quickly, like soap between his fingers. Sabrina’s saying something about how she didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean </span>
  </em>
  <span>to brush her teeth in the fridge, while Ethan and Olivia laugh at her. There’s a long pause, and then the kids all stare at him like they always do when he’s forgetting his lines, and he tries harder to think of it but he can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>focus, </span>
  </em>
  <span>because some asshole is playing music from the 70s really loudly, which is dumb, because 70s-era music is two decades out of date in the 90s, which is the decade that it currently is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack looks down, and realises he’s not wearing any pants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lights turn on, not quite inside the filming lot but not quite outside either. He knows it’s brighter, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>much brighter, but he can’t pinpoint </span>
  <em>
    <span>where </span>
  </em>
  <span>the extra light is coming from. If he had to guess, he’d say it’s somehow from </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside </span>
  </em>
  <span>his eyelids.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or, possibly, outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to pretend he’s somehow blind to the influx of light for an extra couple hours of sleep, but some part of him </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>that Herb normally wakes up after him (when they’re both sober and mentally healthy, which isn’t often), and if Herb cares so little about his sleep that he’s willing to turn the light on anyway then either it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>ridiculously </span>
  </em>
  <span>late and he should really be getting up around now anyway, or something’s wrong. So, he squints one eye open and reaches out to check the time on his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s three in the goddamn morning. So, something’s wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Herb?” He sits up sleepily, eyes still blinking rapidly to adjust to the sudden light. “Herb?” There’s no answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack takes in the scene.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The light is on. That’s what woke him up in the first place. Herb is apparently somehow wide awake, his frantic breaths audible from across the room, and he’s digging through the drawer for </span>
  <em>
    <span>something, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but it’s impossible to know what. By shifting in his position on the bed to see from a different angle, he’s able to see a pair of thin white wires spawning from the sides of his head leading into his pocket -- presumably the same earbuds that are blasting music so loudly that BoJack can name the specific song from the late 70s from across the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Oh, for God’s sake. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Herb!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He pushes a pile of blankets away from him and stumbles out of bed, then strides across the room. “You’re acting like a goddamned crazy person.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb evidently still can’t hear him, and his frustration is rising quickly because he’s still half-asleep, so he just grabs his arm to snap him out of whatever it is, and that’s apparently a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad idea</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Herb damn near </span>
  <em>
    <span>yelps, </span>
  </em>
  <span>presumably in surprise, and there’s some confused arm flailing that somehow results in BoJack getting elbowed in the ribs. And of course, with BoJack being the idiot that he is, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>all it takes to send him into fight-or-flight mode.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The term ‘fight-or-flight’ is a bit of a misnomer, really. There are other versions floating around, each attached to its own debate on what the </span>
  <em>
    <span>actual </span>
  </em>
  <span>set of responses should be called --</span>
  <em>
    <span> fight, flight,</span>
  </em>
  <span> or </span>
  <em>
    <span>freeze,</span>
  </em>
  <span> possibly with </span>
  <em>
    <span>fawn </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the mix as well. But the real problem with the term ‘fight-or-flight’ isn’t the possibilities it omits, or the ones it included.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The problem is that it calls it the fight </span>
  <em>
    <span>or </span>
  </em>
  <span>flight response, when really it’s closer to fight </span>
  <em>
    <span>and/or </span>
  </em>
  <span>flight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On some </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid </span>
  </em>
  <span>instinct he pushes Herb away from him, probably a little </span>
  <em>
    <span>too </span>
  </em>
  <span>hard, but his heart is pounding too hard and too fast to really know or care. Then, he takes several steps backward, putting as much distance as he can between himself and Herb without actually leaving the room, because the bedroom door is closed right now and his brain treats it as a wall, and tries to </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long, ominous silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell?”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Herb flinches. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>now </span>
  </em>
  <span>you can hear me.” He glares. “But not when I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>very predictably </span>
  </em>
  <span>pissed because you turned a light on at three in the goddamn morning?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I’m sorry! I, I wasn’t thinking straight, I didn’t mean to hurt you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please don’t be mad BJ --</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shit.” His features soften and he takes a step forward. “No, no, I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>angry, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m just in a shitty mood because you woke me up, but -- but it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I promise! Oh, God, this is a mess. Did I hurt you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Herb sniffles. “Did I hurt you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really, I mostly just freaked out because, you know…” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Because usually when someone hits me it’s not just because they didn’t expect me to grab them and didn’t realize it was me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks grimly. “Did </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>hurt </span>
  <em>
    <span>you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb takes a deep breath, presumably psyching himself up to explain whatever it is, and immediately bursts into tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W-Woah! It’s, it’s okay, it’s -- what the hell?” He takes a seat on the bed and pats the spot next to him. “Come sit down. It’s okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb’s head is low as he takes a few steps toward the bed and sits down next to BoJack. Instead of actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>explaining </span>
  </em>
  <span>anything, he just buries his head in his shoulder and </span>
  <em>
    <span>sobs, </span>
  </em>
  <span>barely seeming to listen at all to BoJack’s repeated murmurs of how he </span>
  <em>
    <span>needs to breathe </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>it’s gonna be okay </span>
  </em>
  <span>and what’s got him </span>
  <em>
    <span>so freaked out, anyway?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s several minutes before he finally looks up and wipes his eyes. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” BoJack begins, but he cuts himself off before he can continue to say it, because he doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>know if it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>fine. “What the hell were you doing up? It’s, like, three AM.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I couldn’t sleep,” he explains. “And I started -- started </span>
  <em>
    <span>thinking </span>
  </em>
  <span>too much -- so I thought, oh, I’ll go for a walk to clear my head. But then I realised it was cold outside, and I should probably get changed, but I couldn’t find the </span>
  <em>
    <span>specific </span>
  </em>
  <span>jumper I wanted, and I was just getting more and more worked up, and --” He sighs. “I could have just found a different jumper, but I was so obsessed with </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>one that I let myself feel like if I couldn’t find it, it meant something about </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>as a person. Is that stupid?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh. Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb starts crying again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh shit. It’s, uh -- it’s okay? Please don’t cry.” He hesitates, then starts rubbing Herb’s back in what he hopes is a reassuring way. “Deep breaths, baby. It’s okay.” After a while, he gains the courage to ask, “What’s the problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>the problem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack frowns. “Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>the problem!” He launches into a fresh round of sobs. “I keep telling myself I’m only depressed because of the cancer, or because my parents disowned me, or because a couple of assholes didn’t like me years ago, but -- it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>me. That’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>the problem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...You’re sure it’s not the depression?” His eyes widen. “Oh shit. Did you take your meds?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” He answers </span>
  <em>
    <span>far </span>
  </em>
  <span>too quickly. Herb’s forgotten about his medication before, he’s only human, but normally it takes him at least a moment of thinking to remember that he forgot. There’s something about his unusually fast answer that makes BoJack’s blood run cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Herb?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long have you not been taking your meds for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um. A few weeks?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smacks himself in the forehead. “Idiot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be. Just -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>would you do that?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well…” He rubs the back of his neck uneasily. “It was like, one day, I just woke up and thought, ‘what’s the </span>
  <em>
    <span>point </span>
  </em>
  <span>of these pills?’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack groans. “We’ve been over this </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>many times. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>point </span>
  </em>
  <span>is to be antidepressed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly! But, I thought, you know, ‘I haven’t been depressed in ages, why am I taking pills for it?’ Turns out, it was the pills that made me not depressed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...So you expect me to believe that at no point in the last few weeks, did you think that maybe you should go back on the pills because you’re depressed again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long, painful silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb sighs. “Okay, maybe that wasn’t the </span>
  <em>
    <span>whole </span>
  </em>
  <span>reason.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Talk to me.” He flops back onto the bed, and Herb does the same. “Did they cause side effects?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, nothing like that, it’s just … the problem is </span>
  <em>
    <span>me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Why don’t you get that? The problem isn’t that I’m depressed, it’s …” He sniffles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Deep breaths,” BoJack reminds him. “And you will </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>be a problem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb turns away from him. “You don’t understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Explain it to me, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Explain </span>
  </em>
  <span>it? Well…” He’s visibly caught off guard. “Okay. I feel like, basically, the whole world is super messed up and makes no sense, and nobody ever notices or says anything about it but me. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>makes me feel like, y’know, everyone else is fine with it, maybe nothing’s wrong and I’m just crazy or something. And, and then I just make the </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupidest </span>
  </em>
  <span>mistakes, and it’s like -- like I’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>failed </span>
  </em>
  <span>at being human.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, there’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>wrong with not being human. And everyone makes mistakes! It doesn’t mean you’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>failed.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Some </span>
  </em>
  <span>mistakes sure do,” Herb argues. “I mean, you would know. You’ve made a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot </span>
  </em>
  <span>of mistakes -- but when your </span>
  <em>
    <span>mistakes </span>
  </em>
  <span>hurt people, doesn’t that mean you need to change?” He frowns. “A few weeks back, I was on the phone with Hollyhock, and she asked how I was doing. And I said I was doing good, and I told her about my week, and then I forgot to ask her how </span>
  <em>
    <span>she </span>
  </em>
  <span>was doing. That wasn’t because I was depressed, or because of the meds. It was because of </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah, and it was also a </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>unimportant thing. You think that </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurts </span>
  </em>
  <span>people? Clearly you’ve never cheated on your husband, or been an alcoholic for decades, or --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, we get it, you’re an asshole. This isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>about </span>
  </em>
  <span>you.” He rolls over and groans, burying his face in a pillow. “I’m such a piece of shit. I can’t do anything right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not true.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Name </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing I do right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” he begins, listing points off on his fingers. “You’ve never abused or traumatised anyone--”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Bare </span>
  </em>
  <span>minimum.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just saying -- if anyone’s failed at being human, it’s my parents. You’ve kept a relationship going for almost thirty years…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I guess…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And, you’re a writer!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb removes his face from the pillow, raises an eyebrow, and mimes the word, “Bobscavator.” BoJack struggles to keep a straight face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, maybe not your best work, but -- how long have you been off your meds for? You can’t be expecting yourself to know what a bobsled is when you’re depressed as shit. And at least you can write </span>
  <em>
    <span>something.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb remains silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Plus, you’re a </span>
  <em>
    <span>great </span>
  </em>
  <span>friend, you’re super funny, you --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, stop. This isn’t working.” He wraps a pillow around his head and mumbles into it. BoJack has to strain his ears to make out what he’s saying. “I can’t just lie here and listen to you tell me all of my good traits because it doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>matter. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Okay? It doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>matter </span>
  </em>
  <span>if I’m good at some stuff, because I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>that there is --” He takes a deep breath. “That there is something </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong </span>
  </em>
  <span>with me, and I can </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>escape that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack raises an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know.” His voice breaks. “BJ, I would do </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>to not be me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know the feeling.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to be dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack swears his heart skips a beat. “No, you don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know what I want.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Herb.” He tugs on Herb’s shoulder. “Look at me.” Herb turns toward him but doesn’t meet his eye. “Look at me. Baby, it’s gonna be okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bullshit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was okay for me, it’s gonna be okay for you. Deep breaths.” Herb’s breathing seems to slow down a little. “Herb. You know what the problem is here, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The problem is </span>
  <em>
    <span>me,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Herb replies blankly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Don’t say that. Don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>say that.” He wipes a tear from Herb’s cheek. “The </span>
  <em>
    <span>problem </span>
  </em>
  <span>is that you were getting better, and then you stopped taking your meds like an idiot, and that </span>
  <em>
    <span>very predictably </span>
  </em>
  <span>made you start spiralling out of control again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...You think I’m an idiot?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No!” Herb starts sobbing again and he groans. “I just meant you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>acting </span>
  </em>
  <span>like an idiot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If </span>
  <em>
    <span>acting </span>
  </em>
  <span>like an idiot doesn’t make you one then what the hell does?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, I dunno. Does it matter?” He frowns. “Oh my God, is that my phone ringing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously?! It’s --” He sits up and checks the time on the lock screen of his phone, which is displaying an incoming call from Todd. “It’s nearly four in the morning. He’d better be dying.” He answers the call. “Todd, what the hell do you want?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” says Todd, in a voice that makes him sound not at all sorry. “It’s an emergency. Do you know how to make an app?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does </span>
  <em>
    <span>Herb </span>
  </em>
  <span>know how to make an app?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Herb’s a baby boomer, don’t ask him about technology.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But he’s only three years older than you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was the sixties, they were long years.” He groans. “Why do you need to know, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad you asked!” BoJack sure as hell isn’t glad he asked, but he listens anyway. “Has this ever happened to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can guarantee that it hasn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The part about the building actually has!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool. I have to go.” He hangs up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb stares at him. “What was that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think? Todd called me at four AM to ask if I knew how to make an app.” He lies back down, frowning deeply. “Are you gonna be okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb doesn’t answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby, you’ve gotta start taking your meds again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” He rolls over stubbornly. “I don’t want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t want to be happy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserve </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” BoJack presses. “What could you have possibly done that means you don’t deserve to be happy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing in particular,” Herb replies blankly. “I’m just, you know, generally a piece of shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Okay, boomer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb nudges him in the ribs. “Be serious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>being serious,” he retorts. “You’re just saying random bullshit that makes </span>
  <em>
    <span>no </span>
  </em>
  <span>sense, but you’re so attached to the idea that you won’t listen when I tell you why you’re wrong. That is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>total </span>
  </em>
  <span>‘okay boomer’ moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh.” He buries his face in a pillow. “I don’t want to be happy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to go back on the pills because I </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>be depressed,” he rants. “I’m just … a piece of shit. A </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid </span>
  </em>
  <span>piece of shit. And it’s bad enough that I have to keep, keep </span>
  <em>
    <span>living </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>inflicting </span>
  </em>
  <span>myself on you because you’re not gonna leave me, without also being </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy </span>
  </em>
  <span>about it, you know? I feel like I’d just be </span>
  <em>
    <span>reveling </span>
  </em>
  <span>in my own assholery.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, that’s bullshit. And I think you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>that’s bullshit,” he adds, narrowing his eyes at Herb. “because we’ve been talking for ages and you haven’t listed a </span>
  <em>
    <span>single </span>
  </em>
  <span>tangible reason why you deserve to be depressed as shit all the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This seems to have some sort of effect, because Herb looks up at him. But just as quickly he looks back down. “I don’t need a reason. I just </span>
  <em>
    <span>know.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what you’re saying,” says BoJack. “Is that it’s a stupid belief you have based on literally nothing, and you’re trying to justify it to yourself by acting like it’s some kind of bullshit </span>
  <em>
    <span>secret knowledge </span>
  </em>
  <span>because you think that sounds better than admitting you’re depressed because you stopped taking the pills that make you not depressed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb’s silence was more telling than any answer could have been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” he finally snaps in a low voice. “You win, okay? I don’t actually have any </span>
  <em>
    <span>reason </span>
  </em>
  <span>to think that I’m a dickhead or that I deserve to be depressed. All of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad things </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’ve done are just ridiculously minor slights that I’m beating myself up about because I’m a self-deprecating asshole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, calling yourself a self-deprecating asshole is still beating yourself up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my God, you’re right. Why can’t I stop being a self-deprecating asshole?!” He smacks himself in the forehead. “I’m such an idiot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah, you’re still doing it. Maybe cool it with the self-insults?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’ll try.” This time, he even manages a small smile before his face falls. “But, BJ?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still feel shitty. Okay?” He rolls onto his back, gesturing at the ceiling. “I know that I don’t have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>reason, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and that all of the self-deprecating bullshit I keep saying is complete bullshit. But I still believe it.” His voice breaks. “I don’t know how to </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>believe it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you could start by taking your meds, you dolt.” He slings an arm around his shoulders. Instead of melting into the contact, like he usually does, Herb edges away, a stark reminder that everything’s not okay just yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“BJ, I feel like there’s something </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong </span>
  </em>
  <span>with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That would be the depression.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Something else.” He sniffles. “I feel like, like there’s something </span>
  <em>
    <span>broken </span>
  </em>
  <span>at the core of who I am. I feel like I don’t know how to be a person.” BoJack opens his mouth to protest but he cuts him off. “The meds don’t make me stop feeling like I don’t know how to be a person. They just make me feel better about it. But I always feel like something’s a little </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack remains silent for a long time, just trying to </span>
  <em>
    <span>think </span>
  </em>
  <span>of what he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>possibly </span>
  </em>
  <span>say. Finally, he attempts, “Maybe you should give therapy another try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to.” He rolls onto his other side, turning away from BoJack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, what do you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He audibly gulps. “Honestly, I just want to die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack’s eyes widen, and on instinct he reaches out to touch Herb’s shoulder. “Herb, no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.” He sniffles. “I just -- it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard, </span>
  </em>
  <span>BJ. It’s hard to keep going. I’ve only been off my meds for a few weeks but it feels like longer. I’m so </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired…” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack swears his heart skips a beat, or maybe several, as he hears Herb start to softly sob next to him. His tongue catches in his throat, because he doesn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>what </span>
  </em>
  <span>to say. It’s a long time before he finally manages to say, “I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb twists his body around to face him. “Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>that you’re tried. And I know that you’re sore, and sick, and sad for some reason. But I also know…” He leans forward and plants a kiss on Herb’s cheek. “That you can get through this, and you deserve to be happy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Maybe you’re right.” He wipes his eyes and sits up. “Yeah, maybe you’re right! And, maybe if I’m not so depressed, I’ll be able to actually finish my book.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here’s a better idea,” BoJack suggests, sitting up himself.. “Maybe if you’re not so depressed, you’ll be able to get more than a few pages in before you decide your book isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>good enough, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and totally scrap the idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you seriously gonna try and tell me my recent ideas haven’t been shit? I literally thought people would mine on the moon with a machine that was a cross between a bobsled and an excavator.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but that was only </span>
  <em>
    <span>after </span>
  </em>
  <span>you scrapped, like, twenty perfectly good stories. What I’m saying, is…” He gestures vaguely. “Sometimes, you have really high standards for yourself, is all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb’s face falls. “Taking antidepressants won’t make me meet those standards.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my God. How many times do I have to explain this?” He smacks himself in the forehead. “The point of antidepressants isn’t to make you a better writer, or get you to stop forgetting to ask Hollyhock how she’s doing, or fix all your problems. The point is to be antidepressed. And maybe then, once you’re not too wrapped up in your own misery to do anything, you can work on the other problems.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah.” He gives a small smile, then climbs out of bed. “I’m gonna go take my meds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait.” BoJack frowns, thinks for a moment, and then starts to stand up himself. “I want to watch you do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you stopped taking them for weeks, sue me for wanting to be sure.” After a pause, he adds, “Also, I thought putting the suicidal guy alone with a whole bunch of pills might be a dumb idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I can’t blame you.” He forces a nervous chuckle. “And, BJ?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.” His eyes are shimmering with tears threatening to leak again. BoJack knows that if he did cry again, it would be the third or fourth time in the span of an hour, and he doesn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to imagine how embarrassed he’d be in Herb’s position, so he chooses not to say anything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, his phone buzzes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously? It’s four AM…” He checks the message and immediately groans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb frowns. “What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing important.” He stares at his phone in disbelief for a few more moments, and then says, “Why would I know if Emily knows how to make an app?!”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Ableism Horseman</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Herb is a smartass, which results in him being cast as the lead actor in the autistic kleptomaniac movie. Todd and Maude work on their Wikihow Article Recommender.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Things are looking up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb, thank God, starts taking his goddamn meds again, and sure, BoJack has to watch him every goddamn night to make sure he doesn’t act like an idiot, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>takes </span>
  </em>
  <span>them with little prompting, and there’s no more freak-outs at stupidly early hours of morning and no more cigarettes snatched from one hand and put out on another. The surgery goes well, the recovery goes well, and the celebratory move to L.A. goes well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, BoJack thinks he’ll just make a quick trip to the store.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he tells himself. Because, sure, Herb’s still a little depressed, and sure, he made an impressive </span>
  <em>
    <span>seventeen </span>
  </em>
  <span>jokes in the span of a half hour where the punchline amounted to how much of an </span>
  <em>
    <span>idiot </span>
  </em>
  <span>he is (and only stopped when he realised BoJack was keeping track), but there’s no </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>Herb is so depressed that BoJack will leave for five minutes to go to the store and come back to find some sort of disaster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, okay, maybe the fact that Herb so quickly shoots down any suggestion that he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>come with </span>
  </em>
  <span>is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad sign. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But, he showered this morning, so he’s not doing that </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing </span>
  </em>
  <span>where he gets into a loop of acting like he can’t go out because he’s too depressed to shower to hide the fact that he’s deliberately not showering so he has an excuse not to leave the house, so it will be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And nobody says </span>
  <em>
    <span>come with </span>
  </em>
  <span>anymore anyway!</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>So, BoJack goes to the store. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He buys toilet paper -- a </span>
  <em>
    <span>reasonable </span>
  </em>
  <span>amount like a normal person, not a goddamned 45-pack or a single roll, because apparently they sell that now -- and a bottle of shampoo. On an impulse he grabs a chocolate bar at the checkout, like a goddamn kid, because he never </span>
  <em>
    <span>got </span>
  </em>
  <span>to impulsively grab chocolate bars at the checkout as a kid without getting his ass kicked, and now he has all the money in the world so why not?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack pays for the stuff and goes outside. He starts eating the chocolate bar in the parking lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>is the precise moment when everything goes to shit.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The doorbell rings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It only takes a second for the artificial </span>
  <em>
    <span>neigh </span>
  </em>
  <span>to echo through the house, but Herb’s already running through the mental calculations on who the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>it is. Not BoJack, he has his own keys, he wouldn’t ring the doorbell unnecessarily. Todd would text first, and he hasn’t, so it’s not him. Diane’s in Chicago, Hollyhock’s either in Connecticut or or Kansas, Princess Carolyn’s at work, and Judah should be at work too, not to mention that he would </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>show up out of the blue without some kind of forewarning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb comes to the conclusion that it’s probably Mr. Peanutbutter. So, he goes to open the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not Mr. Peanutbutter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An unfamiliar squid woman stares up at him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Up </span>
  </em>
  <span>at him -- the height difference is maybe a few inches if he’s being generous, but she manages to </span>
  <em>
    <span>look </span>
  </em>
  <span>at least a foot shorter. She’s leaning on the doorframe, shifting her weight from foot to foot, while her left arm rests uncertainly in the crook of her right elbow. “Hi, is, uh, is a Mr. BoJack Horseman here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s at the store,” he answers defensively. He doesn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’s defensive, apart from the fact that there’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>stranger in his house. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, um…” She digs around in her purse and pulls out a few sheets of paper. “Could you give this to him, maybe?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah, sure.” He takes the pages. The squid wilts under his glare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait, his </span>
  <em>
    <span>glare?! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Oh shit, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>glaring </span>
  </em>
  <span>now, properly </span>
  <em>
    <span>glaring. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Geez, what the heck is his problem?! She’s just some random woman who’s probably been sent to deliver some stupid bullshit to BoJack, and she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>shy, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and now he’s just making her more insecure and uncertain. So, he attempts a small smile, in the hope that that will make her feel a little better, and she looks at him sort of weirdly like he’s done something wrong and then squeaks out a goodbye and leaves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb’s mind is left reeling from the encounter. He shuts the door behind her, then locks it, then checks that it’s locked no less than three times so that he can’t be caught off guard by another visitor. Then, he takes a deep breath, and looks at the pages.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He immediately groans.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>BoJack can’t often remember the minor events of his day-to-day life before he first got the job at Connecticut. There are, of course, the moments that stand out -- a couple of fights with Herb, a few particularly bizarre Todd-related schemes, the time he met Maude, and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>rants. </span>
  </em>
  <span>BoJack has launched into more annoyingly long rants than he can count and he remembers each one with near-perfect clarity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of his clearest memories of 2019 is ranting for close to three hours, and only stopping when he realised Herb was keeping track of how absurdly long it had been, about some total asswad who described a murderous bisexual character as being “bi-homicidal”.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>bi-homicidal right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bi</span>
  </em>
  <span>-cycle!” says Mr. Peanutbutter unnecessarily, gesturing towards his bicycle which is painted pink, purple, and blue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool,” says BoJack, in a tone that very clearly indicates that it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>cool. He holds up his half-eaten chocolate bar. “Do you want to finish this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to assume that you’re unaware that chocolate is poisonous to dogs!” He thinks for a moment. “Oh, I just remembered. Princess Carolyn wanted to talk to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” He frowns. “I guess I can stop by VIM on my way home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Todd and Maude wanted to show you something too, so yeah, you should probably go to VIM.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure.” He takes out his phone to draft up a quick text to Herb, then changes his mind and puts it back in his pocket. After all, how long could it possibly take?</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>It takes a long time for him to work up the courage to make the phone call and a longer time for Princess Carolyn to answer. “Hey, Herb, how’s that book going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s … going, alright,” he answers. “So, uh, your assistant or something just dropped off the scripts while BJ was out, and, uh -- BJ already explained why he can’t do the autistic kleptomaniac movie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” says Princess Carolyn, slightly disappointed. “But, that was because you were having medical issues and he wasn’t in L.A., right? So it should be fine now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but -- oh my </span>
  <em>
    <span>God, </span>
  </em>
  <span>PC, who wrote this piece of shit? I’ve never seen anything so utterly terrible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Danny Bananas wrote it,” she answers defensively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that a problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Danny Bananas and I have a bit of a … </span>
  <em>
    <span>history, </span>
  </em>
  <span>is all,” he explains through gritted teeth. “Mostly because he’s a shitty writer. Anyway, there’s no </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>BJ’s gonna agree to do this piece of shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not set in stone,” she insists. “If BoJack doesn’t like the writing, we can negotiate to edit some things! Just … let him see for himself. And tell him from me to just, uh, take the idea and run with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Run </span>
  </em>
  <span>with it?!” repeats Herb incredulously. “Run </span>
  <em>
    <span>with </span>
  </em>
  <span>it?! This is so awful, BJ’s going to want to run </span>
  <em>
    <span>away </span>
  </em>
  <span>from it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long, painful silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re hired.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupidest </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing is, he can’t even get to Princess Carolyn’s office without being hindered by a pair of idiots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sorry, no, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>trio </span>
  </em>
  <span>of idiots. A quad, really, if he counts Ruthie as one of the idiots. Which he supposes he ought to do, since Ruthie’s currently absentmindedly sucking on her thumb like some kind of dumbass. Todd’s holding her with a gloved hand, and using the other hand to gesture to Maude, while Emily stands in a corner of the hallway, looking at her phone. He raises an eyebrow curiously. This is going to be interesting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And awkward. “Hey, Emily.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emily looks up from her phone. “Oh, uh, hi, BoJack.” She waves shyly at him, then looks back down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is, uh, is the sexy fireman harem going well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s -- it’s good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Emily’s just here to help us with the programming for our latest idea,” explains Maude, a tinge of bitterness in her voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...And that would be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before the trio of idiots can start a demonstration, Princess Carolyn and Judah emerge from their office. “Oh, BoJack,” says Princess Carolyn, “Funny you should be here, I just --” She pauses, frowning. “What are you three doing in my hallway? That’s not social distancing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re planning things out for the WikiHow Article Recommender!” explains Todd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if on cue, Todd hands Ruthie over to BoJack, resulting in him getting stabbed repeatedly in the arms. Then, he turns to Princess Carolyn and says, “Has this ever happened to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maude dramatically staggers around, waving her arms like a ghost. “Oh, no! I fell off a building and died!” She raises a hand to her head. “If only I had read this WikiHow article on how to survive a fall from a great height! But, I didn’t see the article until after I’d already died.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know the feeling,” says Todd. “Yesterday, I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>incredibly </span>
  </em>
  <span>ableist to my friend. It was only after I’d supported eugenics that I saw a WikiHow article on how to react when someone tells you they’re autistic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maude puts a hand on her chin thoughtfully. “If only there was some way we could be recommended these articles </span>
  <em>
    <span>before </span>
  </em>
  <span>we need them!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long, painful silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can assure you that neither of those things have happened to Princess Carolyn,” says Judah. Princess Carolyn’s eyes light up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a bad idea,” she murmurs. “But won’t there be some copyright issues with WikiHow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno,” says BoJack. “Uh, Mr. Peanutbutter said you wanted to talk to me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did?” She thinks for a moment, then waves a hand dismissively. “Uh, it sorted itself out while I was waiting for him to pass on the message.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, okay.” Before he can say anything else, a loud annoying cover of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Horsin’ Around </span>
  </em>
  <span>theme cuts him off. Upon checking his phone, he discovers that it’s Herb, and he jolts a little when he realises he’s been gone for long enough to worry him. “I’d better take this.” He answers the call on his way out of the building. “Hey, babe, what’s up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s up?” repeats Herb incredulously. “What’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>up?! </span>
  </em>
  <span>You said you’d be back in ten minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, I got sidetracked.” He hesitates. “Also I lied about how long it would take.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...You deliberately deceived me about how long it would take you to go to the store? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why </span>
  </em>
  <span>would you do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno.” He frowns. “You sound really worked up. Did something happen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone came by to drop some stuff off for you and I wasn’t expecting it,” he explains. “I’ve been on edge ever since.” He pauses. “Also, you know how I can be a bit of a smartass sometimes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… long story short, I’m now an actor whether I like it or not, and I’m playing the lead role in the autistic kleptomaniac movie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I’ll be home in ten minutes.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>He licks his thumb, then uses it to turn the page, but he already knows that there’s nothing on the next page that could possibly redeem the steaming pile of garbage he’s reading. “Okay,” he says, very carefully. “Speaking as your husband, I cannot allow you to do this movie. You’re too anxious. Being in the spotlight will just make your mental health worse, and I can’t in good conscience allow that to happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb looks up hopefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But,” he continues. “Speaking as the person who will have to do this if you don’t … I’m just saying, getting a job can be good for your mental health.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A job I don’t know how to do?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the beauty in it.” He puts the scripts down and takes Herb by the shoulders. “You’d be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit </span>
  </em>
  <span>actor! And you’re still ‘Ableism Kazzaz’, so if word gets out that you’re the star, people will be boycotting it before it even starts. There’s no way this shitfest is gonna make it past pre-production. If </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>do it, the dumbasses might try to actually get this thing made.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That … actually makes sense.” He frowns. “But I mean, it’s a risk. What if it </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>make it past pre-production, and I have to actually follow through?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then, congratulations! You’re an actor. That’ll be a hell of a career move.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take this seriously,” snaps Herb, elbowing him in the ribs. “I’m about to be forced into a role that I’m not emotionally ready for and I don’t know how to get out of it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>taking this seriously,” says BoJack, in the voice of someone who is not taking this seriously. “Okay, Herb, here’s the thing: Life is just a bunch of random shit that happens. And sometimes, that random shit makes you think, ‘What the hell? I can’t do that!’ And then, you’re like, what the hell, what have I got to lose by trying? And then it turns out you’re a </span>
  <em>
    <span>great </span>
  </em>
  <span>drama teacher.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, who are we talking about, again?” He groans. “And I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>loads </span>
  </em>
  <span>to lose by taking this role. My reputation, my spare time in which I’m supposed to be writing a book, my mental health…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, but you don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>pretending to be an autistic bank-robber will make you lose those things. Heck, we don’t even know that this movie’s gonna be a thing!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, they’ve got finished scripts and a director already. I think it’s pretty well planned-out, apart from the part where it’s a piece of shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, it’s got a director?” He tilts his head to one side, frowning. “Who’s the director?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb grimaces. “...Kelsey Jannings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Kelsey Jannings?” repeats BoJack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm-hmm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As in, the same Kelsey Jannings that still directed </span>
  <em>
    <span>Secretariat </span>
  </em>
  <span>in this universe,” says BoJack slowly. “And who still got fired after we broke the law to film a deleted scene, and still grew to greatly resent me for not having my career ruined in the same way?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What other Kelsey Jannings would it be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you want me to work with </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>Kelsey Jannings again, so that you don’t have to do something that </span>
  <em>
    <span>might, </span>
  </em>
  <span>in theory, get you a bit of camera attention?” He laughs. “Yeah, you’re on your own.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The autistic kleptomaniac movie, titled </span>
  <em>
    <span>Taking Things, Literally </span>
  </em>
  <span>after the shitty joke that started it all, continues preparations. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack remains convinced that it’s all on thin ice, a house of cards, and all it’ll take for the piece of shit to get pulled is for some sensible person to look at the scripts and realise that it’s, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrible, </span>
  </em>
  <span>to put it lightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But if that was going to happen, it would have already,” protests Herb. “You seriously think they haven’t gotten a </span>
  <em>
    <span>single </span>
  </em>
  <span>sensible person to glance over it yet? I mean, PC’s already looked at it, and she hasn’t pulled the plug.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but Princess Carolyn’s doing everything Judah wants now for some reason.” He gives Herb a knowing look, then waves a hand dismissively. “Give it a week. They’ll cancel that shitshow as soon as word gets out that it’s starring ‘Ableism Kazzaz’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Once word gets out that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>the star, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to do it. Do you see my problem?” He flops back onto the couch and groans. “And I keep thinking, what if it </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>get cancelled? I’ll have to work with Danny Bananas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, better you and Dan than me and Kelsey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not </span>
  </em>
  <span>better me and Dan. ...You call him Dan? You have a nickname for my </span>
  <em>
    <span>arch nemesis?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>nickname, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it’s just a shortening of his actual name.” He frowns. “So what’s your whole thing against Danny Bananas anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb crosses his arms defensively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>come </span>
  </em>
  <span>on. You can’t call the guy your </span>
  <em>
    <span>arch nemesis </span>
  </em>
  <span>and then not tell me what the hell he did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We, uh… We had a fling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack barely manages to keep a straight face as he leans forward. “You have </span>
  <em>
    <span>got </span>
  </em>
  <span>to tell me the story behind that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What story? We met up, we had sex, his dick was tiny and his brain was smaller, and he insulted </span>
  <em>
    <span>Horsin’ Around.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack waits for more information. “...That’s it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm-hmm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What exactly did he </span>
  <em>
    <span>say?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“That </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>would be better at writing </span>
  <em>
    <span>Horsin’ Around </span>
  </em>
  <span>than me. Can you imagine?” He pauses. “Also, turns out he had a wife at the time, and she’s super pissed at me for banging her husband.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gee, I wonder why.” He lies back on the couch. “Well, he is a shitty writer. I mean, look at this!” He picks up a script from the table and starts reading from the first page. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Narrator: Once, there was a man who asked a question.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, I’m pretty sure that happened more than once.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly! And look, this is how it continues: </span>
  <em>
    <span>But nobody would answer him. So the question became a joke, and the joke became his life. </span>
  </em>
  <span>What does that even </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the question?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack shrugs. <em> “Doctor Who?”</em></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s a copyright issue. Maybe it’s, ‘will you marry me?’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s he asking?” He carelessly tosses the pages back onto the desk, where they start to soak up a coffee spill that he was too lazy to clean up. “I’ve seen fanfiction better than this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>written </span>
  </em>
  <span>fanfiction better than this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly! It’s a total piece of shit. There’s no way it’ll actually be a thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! There’s no </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>this </span>
  <em>
    <span>complete </span>
  </em>
  <span>shitshow will actually…” His face falls. “BJ, if I end up actually doing this movie, nobody is </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>gonna let me forget it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you bet. I mean, it’ll probably get cancelled, but if it </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>get released, you’ll basically be a walking meme. I’m already thinking of all the stupid jokes I’ll make about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not helping!” He turns away from BoJack, suddenly defensive. “BJ, I don’t want to do this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, why not?” He pouts. “It’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>hilarious.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb turns back, glaring at him. “Yeah, sure. Everything’s funny, until it’s not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long, painful silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess,” says BoJack carefully. “If you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t want to do this…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then, maybe, you know … I could volunteer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb looks down guiltily. “You don’t have to do that for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Honestly, yeah, you kinda do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, this is gonna be the stupidest thing I ever do.” He takes out his phone to call Princess Carolyn. “Nobody’s ever gonna let me forget this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, I mean, how hard can it be?” When Herb raises an eyebrow, he adds, “Pretending to be an autistic thief, I mean. What do autists </span>
  <em>
    <span>do, </span>
  </em>
  <span>anyway? Line up toys in alphabetical order, scream for no reason, that kinda thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb opens his mouth to protest, then closes it.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Calm Before The Storm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>BoJack struggles with a scene of the autistic kleptomaniac movie.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For someone who’s notoriously a lazy asshole, he sure does get up early when he wants to. Or, most of the time, when he <em> doesn’t </em> want to. It’s still completely dark outside when he first wakes up, and he manages to <em> pretend </em>he’s asleep for another hour or two by telling himself he needs an extra hour and he wants to know how that dream ends and what’s up with the flying chandelier, but by a little after six he’s just lying in a pool of his own boredom, so he sneaks out of bed and goes to make himself food.</p><p>He waits until just after seven, which is the point at which Herb comes downstairs and starts drowning himself in coffee, to shower and get dressed, because before that there was a risk of the noise waking him up prematurely. Then, he grabs his phone from the kitchen counter, and makes toward the door. “I’m gonna head off to film the piece of shit. See you tonight.”</p><p>Herb frowns. “Wait.” BoJack turns back, giving him an expectant look. “Just -- Don’t be an asshole, okay?”</p><p>BoJack pouts. “When have I <em> ever </em>been an asshole?”</p><p>Herb gives him a look.</p><p>“Okay, point taken.” He narrows his eyes. “But I mean, why do you <em> specifically </em>not want me to be an asshole today?”</p><p>“I always want you to not be an asshole. I thought that was a given.” He sighs. “And also, today <em> specifically </em>I want you to not be an asshole, because my autistic friend is going to be watching you pretend to have autism, and it makes me look like a real dick if you’re shitty about it.”</p><p>“Relax, it’ll be fine.” He grabs his jacket from a hook on the door. “I’m not gonna piss off autistic people.”</p><p>Herb breathes a sigh of relief. “Phew.”</p><p>“I mean, what would I <em> do </em>to piss Judah off, anyway? Line up his fidget spinners in alphabetical order instead of by the Pokedex number of the Pokemon it’s most similar to in colour scheme?”</p><p>“...What?”</p><p>“I dunno, it was the most autistic thing I could think of.” </p><p>Herb groans. “Oh my God. BJ. Do <em> not </em>make that joke in front of Judah.”</p><p>“Why not? I think it’s pretty funny.” He opens the door. “Relax. I won’t be a dickhead at work, I promise.” Before Herb can continue to protest, he leaves. </p><p>There’s a long, ominous silence.</p><p>“Hang on,” says Herb, standing alone in the kitchen. “How do you alphabetise fidget spinners?”</p>
<hr/><p>When BoJack Horseman says, “Right, so, I have some questions about my character,” any writer who has worked with him for any length of time knows that the ‘question’ is usually just that he misunderstood a very simple joke and is now trying to say that the joke itself is stupid rather than admitting that he’s wrong. The thing is that in this universe, Danny Bananas hasn’t worked with BoJack for any length of time, so he’s stupid enough to take the bait and say, “Ask away!”</p><p>“So, basically,” BoJack begins, pointing at the scripts. “In the second scene, he throws a tantrum because his friend says he’s being rude. Except, it doesn’t make any <em> sense, </em>because he’s meant to be blending in at the party so he can steal the host’s TV. So what the heck is he making a scene for?”</p><p>“He explains that two scenes later,” says Danny.</p><p>“Yeah, but I didn’t read it.”</p><p>Kelsey pinches the bridge of her nose. “Can we just get ready to start filming already? We’re behind schedule.” </p><p>BoJack, with an irritated sigh, puts his scripts down and gets into position. They start on the first scene, and it’s not bad, honestly, for a first take. The whole thing’s a little unpolished, and there’s some awkwardly long pauses when it’s probably very clear to an outside observer that he’s struggling to remember his lines (which is mostly because if he stared at the piece of shit for long enough to memorise his lines he would end up clawing his brains out), and Kelsey has to gesture to him from behind the camera to indicate what he’s supposed to do a few too many times, but again, nothing unusual for take one. </p><p>Which is why it pisses him off so much when she tells him to cut.</p><p>“Seriously?” He groans. “I was in <em> the zone. </em>You just ruined my momentum.” </p><p>Kelsey looks at him like he’s a total idiot. Danny decides to be a little more tactful, taking a step toward him. “Look, uh -- your delivery could be a little better, is all.”</p><p>“What’s wrong with my delivery?” he asks defensively.</p><p>“Well, uh… for example, in, uh, the line you did just before we cut, ‘what am I doing wrong?’, well…” </p><p>BoJack repeats the earlier line. “What am I doing wrong.” As before, he says it in a completely flat tone, making it a little unclear if he’s meant to be doing an impersonation of what a movie thinks people sound like when they’re under hypnosis, or if he’s just ordering a salad at a particularly uninteresting restaurant. “What’s wrong with it?”</p><p>“Well,” continues Danny. “It’s just that, well, it sounds like --”</p><p>“It sounds like you don’t <em> care </em> what you’re doing wrong,” finishes Kelsey. “Look, BoJack. This is the climactic moment of the film’s intro. That line is the build-up of <em> all </em> of the character’s frustration. It needs to sound like you’re not <em> bored.” </em></p><p>“That’s the problem,” protests BoJack. “I just don’t <em> feel </em>like he has any reason to be frustrated.”</p><p>Princess Carolyn stares at him in disbelief. “Do you know <em> anything </em>about your character?”</p><p>“I know he has autism,” he says blankly, starting to leave his position on the set.</p><p>“Yes, but do you know what that <em> is?” </em> she presses. “Honestly. Did you research autism at <em> all </em>for this role?”</p><p>“Eh, I skimmed the first Google result, so I’m basically an expert now.” He exits the set. “I just remembered, I left my phone in the car like an idiot. Be back in five.”</p>
<hr/><p>He is, in fact, back in five. The problem is that his entire being is back, from his physical body to his general assholery, and with it he brings his terrible rendition of the character. Every word sounds like he’s a fourth grader being made to read a page of a book out to the class, every movement is at least three seconds too late and accompanied by an audible hiss from Kelsey for him to <em> remember the goddamn script, </em> and of course, any slight criticism of his acting turns into an unnecessarily long argument about <em> Secretariat, </em>and whose fault it was that Kelsey got fired.</p><p>“This is a mess,” says Princess Carolyn, during yet another five minute break that’s supposedly due to a lighting issue but realistically is probably just an excuse for Kelsey and BoJack to be separated before they start tearing each other’s heads off. </p><p>“It is,” agrees Kelsey. “And it’s gonna keep being a mess unless we can get BoJack’s head out of his ass.”</p><p>Princess Carolyn grimaces. She’s known BoJack for decades, ever since she first became Marv’s assistant in the 90s. She can remember their first meeting like it was yesterday, even though his earliest memory of her existing was the third time they met, probably because the first time they met was such a thoroughly <em> gross </em>encounter that it stuck in her mind. And she knows better than anyone that the chances that BoJack Horseman will get his head out of his ass are about as low as they come.</p><p>“Any ideas?” she suggests weakly.</p><p>Judah shuffles some papers. “I do have one idea.”</p>
<hr/><p>Those stupid-ass lighting technicians finally get their shit together, thank God, and BoJack can finally get more than thirty seconds of acting in before they have to put it on pause to fix whatever bullshit issue’s popped up <em> this </em> time. Even better, Kelsey’s stopped her ridiculous critiques, trying to pick a fight with him every two goddamn minutes, and instead decided to mostly stand there uselessly while Judah gives him unneeded acting guidance. Without the constant interruptions, <em> maybe </em>he’ll be able to get more than half a scene done.</p><p>If only he could <em> focus. </em></p><p>“What the hell is that noise?” he asks Princess Carolyn, in between takes of the first scene.</p><p>“Hmm?” she says, frowning. It takes a moment of listening, somehow, for her to even realise what he’s talking about. “Oh, that. There’s a couple of tap dancers that asked if they could use the next block over to film their music video. Hope it’s not a problem.”</p><p>“Oh, for God’s sake.” He frowns. “Wait, so what’s the other noise?”</p><p>“Other noise?” Her ears perk up while his flatten. “Oh yeah, forgot to mention. I also told a heavy metal band they could use the <em> other </em>next block over to practice.”</p><p>“Oh. Right.” He groans. “Anyone else practicing their loud music nearby?”</p><p>“Just the Sydney Symphony Orchestra.” At his astonished gaping, she adds defensively, “What? The Sydney Opera House was closed because of the coronavirus, they needed a place to practice.”</p><p>“And they chose <em> here?!” </em>he chokes incredulously. </p><p>“Well, have you got a better place?” While he continues to stare at her in shock and confusion, she adds, “Oh, don’t be making a whole thing out of it. It’s not <em> that </em>loud.”</p><p>“I’m just having some trouble focusing.”</p><p>“Hmm,” says Judah. “Have you tried focusing?”</p><p>This, unsurprisingly, does not help.</p><p>Danny Bananas clears his throat unnaturally loudly. “Okay, slight change of plans. BoJack, you know the scene where you have a heartfelt talk with the love interest?”</p><p>“Yeah?” says BoJack.</p><p>“Well, we’re replacing that scene with a socially distanced fight scene.”</p><p>“...<em> Why?” </em></p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>BoJack and the other actress get into position for the fight scene. Kelsey gives her completely useless instructions. </p><p>“Okay,” she begins. “So, you have to punch her in the face, but you have to stay two metres away from each other.”</p><p>BoJack looks at his arm. It’s not two metres long. “How the hell am I meant to do that?”</p><p>“Just quit being difficult and do it,” snaps Princess Carolyn. </p><p>Kelsey waits for a moment, then signals for him to start. He uncertainly takes a step forward, toward the actress, and immediately gets yelled at. “No,” snaps Princess Carolyn. “You have to stay two metres away from her.”</p><p>“Why?!” he chokes.</p><p>“Because that’s the rules,” snaps Kelsey.</p><p>“But Princess Carolyn is literally <em> right </em>next to Judah.” He frowns. “How come the rules are only being enforced on me when I’m the only person who might have a valid reason to break them?”</p><p>“Because they’re the <em> rules.” </em></p><p>BoJack gets yelled at some more for daring to obey the laws of physics by not making his arm stretch another several metres, and then Kelsey decides to go back to the party scene, in the hope that he’ll have miraculously gotten better at it while he was getting yelled at for daring to obey the laws of physics by not making his arm stretch another several metres. He gathers pretty quickly that he hasn’t, but it’s hard to tell whether his acting skills have actually gotten worse or just stayed roughly the same, since Kelsey is now adamantly refusing to give him any useful guidance.</p><p>“Cut,” she snaps. BoJack doesn’t manage to hide his frustration.</p><p>“Anything in particular I did wrong,” he practically snarls. “Or are you just really devoted to making sure I don’t get home in time to watch <em> Birthday Dad?” </em></p><p>Princess Carolyn frowns. “I thought you hated <em> Birthday Dad.” </em></p><p>“Yeah, I do. I just needed something that was going on this evening so I could guilt Kelsey about making me stay late.”</p><p>Kelsey pinches the bridge of her nose. “Your delivery is all wrong. Start again.”</p><p>“Hang on, no, that’s bullshit.” He steps back from the set. “What’s <em> wrong </em>about it? You can’t just tell me it’s wrong and expect me to correct that myself. I’m not a goddamned mind-reader.”</p><p>“Stop being difficult,” snaps Princess Carolyn.</p><p>BoJack gets back into position. Kelsey stares at him for a moment. “...Action.”</p><p>He struggles to remember his lines. Those total <em> asswads </em> are still tap-dancing abnormally loudly, and the stupid-ass rock band is still shredding the same irritating, out of tune solo that they’ve been practicing for the last three hours, and the Sydney Symphony Orchestra is still playing something that would probably sound good if it wasn’t clashing so severely with the heavy metal band. And, all of the contrasting rhythms are driving him <em> nuts. </em>Who knew tap-dancing could be so annoying? He begins to feel sorry for Herb, whose stupid-ass office used to be right under the tap-dancing office.</p><p>“Does this skirt make my ass look big?” asks the unnecessary love interest.</p><p>“Yes,” answers BoJack flatly.</p><p>Kelsey groans loudly. “Cut!”</p><p>“Seriously?!” She opens her mouth to tell him off again, but he cuts her off. “No, sorry, I’m not doing this bullshit again. Okay? You <em> need </em>to tell me what I could be doing better, or I can’t do what you want.”</p><p>Kelsey stares at him blankly.</p><p>“What the hell do you want from me, you crazy bitch?!” His heart pounds in his chest as frustration courses through his veins, and on impulse he grabs the nearest object, a prop bottle filled with water and food colouring, ostensibly red wine. “I can’t read minds. You need to <em> communicate </em> what the problem is, or just <em> live </em> with me being a shitty actor, because you can’t expect me to magically know what I’m doing wrong when I can’t even concentrate because of the tap-dancing assholes!” Rage at an absolute peak, he throws the bottle, and it crashes to the ground and shatters, leaving glass shards and fake wine all over the floor. <em> “What am I doing wrong?!” </em></p><p>Then, the tap-dancing assholes stop. The heavy metal band stops. The Sydney Symphony Orchestra, thank God, finally stops.</p><p>There’s a long, ominous silence.</p><p>Kelsey turns to the cameraman. “Did you get that?”</p><p>The cameraman gives her a thumbs up. </p><p>BoJack’s heart skips a beat. He got most of his anger out with the broken bottle, and now that his heart isn’t beating so fast and he’s not completely seeing red he’s able to realise that he’s probably just pissed <em> many </em> people off with that stunt, and he’s ruined a perfectly good prop and probably damaged the floor and his ass is <em> totally </em>about to get fired.</p><p>“Congratulations,” says Judah flatly. “You have experienced what it’s like to be autistic for…” He checks his watch. “Seventeen minutes.”</p><p>“...What?”</p><p>“You said earlier that you were having trouble because you didn’t get why he was frustrated,” explains Princess Carolyn. “So, we thought it would help if we replicated the circumstances that he would be going through in the movie.”</p><p><em> “Circumstances?” </em> he chokes in disbelief. “What, the guy’s at a party and he freaks out like an idiot, so let’s all torture BoJack?”</p><p>If Judah is offended by this, he certainly doesn’t show it. “When you’re autistic,” he explains. “You often find it almost impossible to concentrate on your current task due to the presence of disruptive background noises, which the people around you are able to ignore with ease. You have difficulty understanding and obeying by traditional social rules and customs, and this causes many people to be frustrated or upset with you, but it’s rare for someone to actually explain what you’re doing wrong, so you find it difficult to improve or change your behaviour. These factors, among others, culminate in occasional outbursts of frustration and other negative emotions, such as the one that we need you to portray in the party scene.”</p><p>BoJack’s eyes widen. “...Huh.” </p>
<hr/><p>It’s uncomfortably late in the evening when he finally arrives home to find Herb, God <em> damn </em> him, watching <em> Birthday Dad </em> in the living room. The <em> nerve </em>of him. At the very least, he doesn’t have the volume up at the highest possible level, so he’s able to hear BoJack coming in. “Where the hell have you been?”</p><p>“They made me stay really late,” he explains. “The party scene took, like, a <em> kajillion </em>takes to get right. How’ve you been?”</p><p>“Oh, you will not <em> believe </em> what happened today,” says Herb, standing up. “So, I was on the phone with Todd, and we ended up talking about the song <em> Stayin’ Alive. </em>And, you know that one lyric in the chorus, ‘whether you’re a brother or whether you’re a mother’? That one always confused me, because, it’s like, what about sisters, are they just meant to die?”</p><p>“It doesn’t <em> literally </em>mean only mothers and brothers,” replies BoJack, taking his water bottle out of his bag and beginning to sip from it. “It’s about friends and enemies.”</p><p>“I know that <em> now, </em> but I only <em> just </em>figured it out today!” He smacks himself in the forehead. “I can’t believe I wasted forty-three years of my life not knowing that.”</p><p>BoJack nearly chokes on his water. <em> “Stayin’ Alive </em> came out <em> how </em>many years ago?!”</p><p>“I know. It makes me feel old, too.” The episode of <em> Birthday Dad </em> comes to an end and Herb sighs. “Well, I guess I’m gonna go upstairs and, I dunno, try to understand <em> The New York Times’ </em>effect on man.” </p><p>BoJack grabs his hand. “No, <em> we </em> can try to understand <em> The New York Times’ </em>effect on man.”</p><p>Herb stares at him and smiles. “You know, if I had a dollar for every brain cell in this conversation, I’d have fifteen cents.”</p><p>“Pfft, you’d be a millionaire.” He frowns. “Hey, Herb?”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Well, I mean, I’ve been thinking, and …Remember all that stuff I said before, about how being autistic must be <em> so </em> easy?” Herb nods and he continues. “Well, I couldn’t get the scene right for a while, so Judah did this weird <em> thing </em> where he put a bunch of super loud noises on and didn’t tell me what I was doing wrong.” Herb gives him a quizzical look. “Sounds weird, but it was actually <em> super </em>infuriating. And then, I got really pissed off, and Judah was all like, ‘Congrats, asshole, you’ve learned what it’s like to be autistic for seventeen minutes’.”</p><p>“...That does <em> not </em>sound like something Judah would say.”</p><p>“Eh, maybe he didn’t say it <em> exactly </em>like that. Anyway, point is -- I literally thought autistic people just screamed for no reason, but then, Judah tried to make me see what it was like to see the world from his perspective, and I couldn’t even last twenty minutes without losing my shit!” He frowns, then grins. “I think I’ve learned a valuable lesson here.”</p><p>Herb raises an eyebrow at him. “And that lesson would be?”</p><p>There’s a long pause before BoJack answers. “...Autistic people are dicks.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Storm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>BoJack can tell something's wrong with Herb, but he won't admit what. Judah and Princess Carolyn talk.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>remember how last chapter was called the calm before the storm?</p><p>yeah. here's the storm. i meant it literally.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He knows he shouldn’t check his phone in a moving vehicle, he really shouldn’t, but he’s got to </span>
  <em>
    <span>check </span>
  </em>
  <span>because if it’s what he thinks it is he probably doesn’t want Herb to see it, and besides, if he survived a good twenty years of being near-constantly drunk behind the wheel, glancing at a screen </span>
  <em>
    <span>once </span>
  </em>
  <span>won’t kill him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon seeing the correct name on the lock screen, he pulls over so he can read it properly. Sarah Lynn’s finally replied to his message in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ethan Around </span>
  </em>
  <span>groupchat.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>BoJack: hey does anyone have an image of that tweet that goes like “ ‘terf is a slur used to silence women’ dang i wish it worked shut up”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sarah Lynn: i think its in my camera roll hang on</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sarah Lynn: wait</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sarah Lynn: since when do u care abt trans ppl?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>BoJack: what are you taaaalking about? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>BoJack: im a GREAT ally</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bradley: What are you going to edit it to say?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>BoJack: ...nothing</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Joelle: bojack.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>BoJack: ok fine im editing it to say “ ‘autism speaks is a hate group that silences autistic people’ dang i wish it worked shut up”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Joelle: that sounds … ethically questionable</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bradley: Sounds like getting fired from your job playing an autistic character.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>BoJack: well clearly you guys have never had to listen to judah mannowdog talk about your delivery for half an hour</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Joelle: who’s judah mannowdog?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bradley: Isn’t acting your job? You know, that you get paid to do? Is he not allowed to give you advice to be better at your job that you get paid to do?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>BoJack: he’s annoying</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bradley: “My coworker was annoying so now I support eugenics”.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>BoJack: yes im glad you understand</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He carelessly tosses his phone onto the passenger seat and starts driving again. It’s only another five minutes before he pulls up in his driveway, but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>feels </span>
  </em>
  <span>longer because he witnesses the sky turn from a bright blue to a sort of orange-y pink hue during the ride home. Kelsey made him stay late because he’s a shitty actor, again. He swears to God, if he got a dollar for every hour he stayed later than he was meant to … well, then he’d have to sue them, because that would be insufficient overtime pay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He unlocks his front door and goes inside to find Herb on the couch, doing something or other on his laptop. Probably working on that novel he’s ostensibly writing. He mutters a quick, “Hi, babe,” to announce his presence, and Herb looks up from his screen and stares at him like he’s just been caught committing a crime.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Oh, hi.” The reply comes out stiff and uncertain. “How was work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Judah was a pain in the ass, though.” He hangs his jacket up on a hook on the inside of the door. “How was your day?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, it was okay.” He slumped back onto the couch. “Was Judah </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually </span>
  </em>
  <span>a pain in the ass, or was he just, you know, giving you constructive criticism so you can be better at your job which you get paid to do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, does it matter?” He sits down next to Herb; Herb quickly switches to another tab, a blank word document. “Stupid-ass Judah, always telling me how to do my job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Judah’s my </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It kinda makes you sound like a dick when you make him out to be the bad guy for helping you do your job.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever.” He grabs the TV remote and starts flicking through the channels. “Ugh, is there anything good on?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, I’ve just been writing all day.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, have you made much progress?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wrote two and a half words. So, yeah.” He hesitates, then closes his laptop. “Hey, BJ?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we watch </span>
  <em>
    <span>Horsin’ Around?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah, sure. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb stiffens. “What, do I need a </span>
  <em>
    <span>reason </span>
  </em>
  <span>to watch a show?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s just -- you seem a little off. Are you okay?” He frowns. “You’re acting all, I dunno, </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about? I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack stares at him quizzically. Herb looks up at him with wide eyes. There’s a long, ominous pause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>something wrong,” BoJack decides. “It’s -- It’s in your eyes. I can just </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb scoffs. “What, do you think you’re goddamned Sherlock now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, don’t be ridiculous. I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sherlock Holmes.” He pauses. “I might be Benedict Cumberbatch, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think you’re qualified to play an autistic character while being a dick to people with autism in real life, so yeah, that checks out. Ugh, can we just watch </span>
  <em>
    <span>Horsin’ Around </span>
  </em>
  <span>already?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack hesitates, then stands up to grab the DVDs. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>She glances at the screen with a frown. “Well, we’re still behind schedule.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m aware of this,” says Judah flatly. “I suspect that it is due to BoJack Horseman regularly taking longer than planned to perform his scenes at an adequate quality level.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah, that might be it.” Her claws clack on the keyboard for a few moments. “Do you think he’s improving at all, at least?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There have been marked improvements in his acting ability, but his inability to take criticism is causing a lot of tension between him and Kelsey, which further delays the filming.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” she says through gritted teeth. “I hadn’t noticed.” It takes her a second to regret it, and by the time her brain has caught up with her mouth, Judah’s already about to start talking. “Wait, no, don’t take that literally. I was being sarcastic.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for clarifying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn doesn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>those four simple words make her heart rate pick up, but they do, and she stands up so she can pace around the room, to get some of the nervous energy out. “You know what I think the problem is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am unaware of your internal thought processes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She makes a mental note to find more convenient ways to phrase things around Judah, then continues. “The problem is, BoJack has </span>
  <em>
    <span>no </span>
  </em>
  <span>frame of reference for what autism actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>is. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’s too stubborn to look it up, so he’s just using </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>as his only frame of reference, and that’s why he’s dead-set on talking totally emotionlessly the whole time.” She frowns. “Wait, why do you want him to talk normally, anyway? Wouldn’t it be more realistic if he talked like you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It would not,” says Judah flatly. “I am the exception rather than the rule among autistic people, and the media already has countless representations of those of us who speak in a completely flat tone of voice. I want to allow the autistic people that often feel unrepresented by overly stereotypical characters to be able to relate to our movie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s … actually pretty noble of you.” She stops pacing and leans against the desk, staring at him. “So, basically, you’re just a walking stereotype.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stereotypes are not tangible. They cannot walk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn gives him a look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I now see that that was an example of how my behaviour sometimes appears overly stereotypical.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway,” he continues. “I would like to respectfully disagree regarding your opinion on BoJack’s motivations. His lack of experience with autistic people does not excuse his refusal to do his own research into the topic, or to listen when he is given constructive criticism on his portrayal.” She opens her mouth, frowning, but he cuts her off. “Although, I do understand why you may be inclined to defend BoJack.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn swears her heart skips a beat. “Hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes.” Judah stands up, and while his face remains as blank as ever, something in the atmosphere changes. He stands over her -- when did he get so </span>
  <em>
    <span>tall? -- </span>
  </em>
  <span>and she feels her heart pounding in her ribcage, in that specific way that makes her feel like she’s about one bad shock away from it pounding </span>
  <em>
    <span>out </span>
  </em>
  <span>of her ribcage. She knows, instinctively, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>the game is on, </span>
  </em>
  <span>without knowing that </span>
  <em>
    <span>the game </span>
  </em>
  <span>is. She remembers that Judah can be quite cunning, at times. “I happen to have known about your unrequited romantic feelings for BoJack for quite some time.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The episode finishes, and Herb gets up to put another one on. BoJack momentarily forgets that getting the remote from the coffee table is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely </span>
  </em>
  <span>different trip to actually leaving the room, and has the colossal </span>
  <em>
    <span>nerve </span>
  </em>
  <span>to say, “Can you grab me a can of coke while you’re up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you kidding? No. Get your own coke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeesh, I was just asking.” He lies back on the couch as the next episode starts. “What’s got you all pissed off?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” says Herb stiffly. “I’m not pissed off.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure.” He sits back down. “Why do you think I’m pissed off?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, you seem all … </span>
  <em>
    <span>prickly.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Herb folds his arms over his body defensively. “You know, really tense.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well…” There’s a witty comeback on the tip of his tongue, he’s sure of it, but he can’t quite seem to find the words. Instead he leans back and rests his head on BoJack’s shoulder. It’s the first read shred of affection he’s shown all night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby, you’re acting weird. I’m worried.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh. I’m fine.” He edges closer to BoJack, despite already being basically on top of him, and frowns. “...Hey, BJ?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There was this one time, when I was just a kid, I asked my sister to go grab my coke from my bedroom while we were watching TV together. And do you know what she said?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, I dunno. ‘Are you kidding? No. Get your own coke.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kinda.” He chuckles. “What she actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>said </span>
  </em>
  <span>was, ‘Go get your own coke, you lazy asshole’. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Right </span>
  </em>
  <span>in front of my parents. And then, she got out of trouble by fake-crying and pretending she felt so </span>
  <em>
    <span>guilty </span>
  </em>
  <span>about saying a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad word. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Didn’t help that she then stopped crying to brag about being a badass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds bitchy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was just a kid, she hadn’t really learned to </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>be bitchy yet. She mellowed out a lot after she turned twelve.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You miss her.” It’s not a question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A little.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, she might not have outright </span>
  <em>
    <span>said </span>
  </em>
  <span>you weren’t related to her anymore, like your mom did, but she </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>ignore you for decades. And sort of look at us weirdly at the funeral.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know, it’s just…” He takes a deep breath. “My dad called.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack looks up. “Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“While you were at work. My dad called me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shit.” He gripped Herb’s shoulders tightly. “What did he say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The usual. You know, about how I’m a huge disappointment for being gay, and he really thought I would do better, that kind of thing. Then he got drunk and started talking about how maybe it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>fault I’m such a filthy evil sinner, and that got him all depressed, so he blamed me for that, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Wow, what an</span>
  <em>
    <span> asshole.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb jokingly nudges him in the ribs. “No shit, Sherlock. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>disown me, and all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I mean -- what the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>does he think gives him the right to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>call </span>
  </em>
  <span>you? After what happened last time? He beat the </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit </span>
  </em>
  <span>out of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb groans. “BJ, you’re embarrassing me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m serious! He </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt </span>
  </em>
  <span>you. That is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb shrinks, looking guiltily at the floor. “I started it, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So?” He gestures around at the room. “You shouldn’t have picked a fight with him, I’m not denying that. But that didn’t give him an excuse to hurt you! You weren’t going to seriously injure him, he could have kept himself safe without hurting you, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>chose </span>
  </em>
  <span>to beat the shit out of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb manages to look up a little. “...Yeah, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See? And he should </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>try to contact you again, after that bullshit. Heck, you’d think he’d have the sense to not come crawling back after he first disowned you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What kind of absolute </span>
  <em>
    <span>dickwad </span>
  </em>
  <span>actually thinks to himself, ‘oh, here’s my son that I disowned, ignored for decades, and then had a physical fight with, maybe I should call him, see how he’s doing?’?! Absolute </span>
  <em>
    <span>ass. </span>
  </em>
  <span>When your last face-to-face meeting with someone consisted mainly of you </span>
  <em>
    <span>physically fighting </span>
  </em>
  <span>them, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>cannot </span>
  </em>
  <span>just </span>
  <em>
    <span>call </span>
  </em>
  <span>like everything’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine! </span>
  </em>
  <span>What a total </span>
  <em>
    <span>dick.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He frowns. “Why’d he call you, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb shrinks in his seat, failing to make BoJack’s eye. “...Because I texted and asked him to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long, painful silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Well, that was stupid.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>She gulps. “How did you know that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You told me.” The tension in the air fades immediately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I did?” She tilts her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She frowns. “When?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was showing you the lyrics to one of the songs I wrote with my band,” he explains. “You mentioned that it resonated with you in reference to your feelings from BoJack.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, I kinda remember that.” She starts pacing again, still frowning a little. “I’ve been meaning to ask about your band, actually -- are you … performing? Any time soon?” It comes out uncertain and wavering, and she searches around in her brain for any scrap of her usual confidence. She finds none.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” says Judah flatly. “We had plans to perform later this year, but our preferred venue was closed due to the restrictions put in place to enforce social distancing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” She’s disappointed. She doesn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>she’s disappointed. “Well, have you been practicing? For when this is all over?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s become increasingly difficult to meet up with my band-mates in person,” he answers. “I’ve been trying to practice by myself, but I’ve found a rather steep learning curve in learning to sing while playing guitar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn stares at him. “...You sing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” He does not elaborate. Princess Carolyn tries to picture it -- tries to picture professional, formal Judah, with his hair down and his glasses probably replaced with contacts, most likely wearing a grey t-shirt with some generic edgy symbol on the front and ripped jeans, positively </span>
  <em>
    <span>shredding </span>
  </em>
  <span>some guitar riff while he screams the lyrics in falsetto. It takes every last inch of self-control for her to not burst into a fit of giggles on the spot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you play any other instruments?” she asks, because that seems more polite than laughing at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I play piano fluently,” he answers nonchalantly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Someone’s bragging, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thinks to herself. She quickly un-thinks it. “Apart from that, I can also play ukulele, flute, and drums, if needed, though not simultaneously.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like you’re quite the musician.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t play any of them particularly well.” She stares at him. “...That was a joke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You make jokes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes. They’re not often recognised as jokes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wonder why.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Based on context, I can infer that you are being sarcastic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.” She looks to her computer screen and discovers that it’s gone into sleep mode from disuse, so she taps a random key to wake it back up. “Has Herb said anything about the book he’s supposedly writing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but he has called me on my personal phone repeatedly to apologise on BoJack’s behalf for his behaviour during filming.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grimaces. “What did he do </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As usual, his delivery was subpar and he reacted badly to any constructive criticism. Earlier today I reminded him that a poor representation may lead to boycotting from the autistic community, to which he implied that the only thing which could anger autistic people would be lining up their fidget spinners in alphabetical order instead of by the Pokedex number of the Pokemon they’re most similar to in colour scheme.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinks. “Wow, that’s … awful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I agree. Especially considering that fidget spinners do not typically have names and therefore cannot be alphabetised.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll have to excuse BoJack,” she murmurs guiltily. “He’s … kind of an asshole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He can be rather unpleasant at times,” agrees Judah. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn frowns. “Hey, Judah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What … </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>did I tell you about BoJack? You know, when I mentioned liking him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You described your infatuation with him,” Judah explains. “In particular, you stated that due to having known him for a long time, your feelings for him are, quote, ‘the type of love you only get when you’re young and stupid’. You also expressed your worry that you will not feel the same way about people other than BoJack.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Hmm.” She vaguely remembers this conversation, if she puts her mind to it. She’s a little impressed that Judah can recall it in such detail.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That kind of love, you only get it when you’re young and stupid. I’m not gonna get it again.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn realises she’s getting it again.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>He should have expected this, really. What kind of </span>
  <em>
    <span>idiot </span>
  </em>
  <span>tells their upset husband that it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid </span>
  </em>
  <span>to reach out to his dad that disowned him? Well, sure, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>stupid, but that didn’t mean he had to </span>
  <em>
    <span>say </span>
  </em>
  <span>it! And now Herb’s goddamn crying, like some sort of </span>
  <em>
    <span>idiot, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and BoJack is just sort of uselessly hugging him and trying to think of what to </span>
  <em>
    <span>say, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>God, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’s bad at this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb wipes his eyes. “You’re right, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah, </span>
  </em>
  <span>kinda.” He frowns. “Why did you want to talk to him, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know.” He turns away from BoJack, suddenly defensive. “You know, Sarah Lynn came over earlier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Before or after your dad called?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Before. They’re planning on going to uni after this whole pandemic thing dies down, and, uh -- they were thinking about Wesleyan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, that seems like it’d lead to a lot of crazy schemes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” He pauses, frowning. “You know, architecture kinda freaks me out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Architecture?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>It takes a good deal of self-restraint not to laugh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Come</span>
  </em>
  <span> on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb crosses his arms. “Shut up,” he murmurs meekly. BoJack sits up straight so he can see him properly, see his stubborn pout and his tightly crossed arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack slings an arm around his shoulders and says, “And yet here you are, inside a building. So brave!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m older than you,” Herb snaps. “Don’t talk to me like I’m goddamned ten.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” says BoJack, who is not sorry. “It’s just -- again, </span>
  <em>
    <span>architecture? Come </span>
  </em>
  <span>on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, it’s just…” He sighs. “It’s like, you look around the room, and there’s all this </span>
  <em>
    <span>stuff. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You know, furniture. And that sort of becomes part of the room to me, and I can’t picture the house without it, and then, you just, you look at the floor plan, and you realise -- none of this is permanent. I can’t rely on this couch! It’s … </span>
  <em>
    <span>jarring, </span>
  </em>
  <span>to think about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack stares at him. “...Okay, I understand a little better now, but I still think that’s dumb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, maybe it is. Who knows? When I was a teenager, I got a job at this fast food place. It was nice, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated </span>
  </em>
  <span>working late nights, because that was when they cleaned everything when there were no more customers. So they’d take all the equipment apart to clean it, and move all the benches to mop the floor, and it was just -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>woah. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You know?” BoJack looks at him sort of weirdly. He falters. “I’d been there for a couple weeks before I first worked a night shift. And it was like, all of this stuff that I was used to, just -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Just like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Sorry, we </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>still talking about KFC, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know, it’s weird.” He sighs. “You know, when I was around seven or eight, I had this neighbour who was into horses, and then suddenly she wasn’t. So she had all these horse toys to get rid of, and there was this </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>toy that was really big -- like, so big you could sit on it -- and it had a broken neck, and nail polish around the mouth so it looked like it had a nosebleed. And I was like, what the hell, give me the horse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...And?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I was fifteen,” he continues. “My mom was talking about getting herself a new chair, and she mentioned that my room needed a chair, too. And I was like, no way, I just sit on the bed, and there’s no room anyway. So she told me that I could just get rid of the giant toy horse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack blinks. “Wait, you still had the horse?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d accepted it. As </span>
  <em>
    <span>part of the room. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It freaked me out, realising it </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and if I wanted to I could just </span>
  <em>
    <span>move </span>
  </em>
  <span>it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” says BoJack. “You have a pretty impressive memory of your childhood.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...But not impressive </span>
  <em>
    <span>enough.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s something about his tone, and the way he seems to sink back into the couch, that makes BoJack frown. “...Is that why you wanted to talk to your dad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah. I wanted to know what I was like as a kid. It hit me this morning, that memory about the giant unnecessary horse, and I realised, I didn’t know its name. And that bothered me a lot, because I named </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>my toys as a kid, and the more I thought about it, the more details I couldn’t remember, and that made me feel like I’d -- like I’d lost a part of my own history. So, I called my dad.” He finally manages to face BoJack. “You know what the worst part is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He couldn’t tell me anything.” He starts fidgeting with a loose thread of the couch. “I mean, I know I was always closer to my mom, and I know it was fifty years ago, and I know his memory is shit because he’s old, but -- but you’d think he’d remember </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>about raising his own son.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. You’d think.” His voice comes out hollow. “I know how it feels.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb looks up. “Hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was, I think, sixteen. I had a fight with my mom, again, nothing unusual there. It was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>dumbest </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing -- she was in a shitty mood because my dad was cheating on her more blatantly than usual, and she needed an excuse to be mad at me, so she pretended I was being rude. And I tried to stand up for myself, and she got mad at me for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my God.” He groans in sympathy. “Did she do that thing shitheads do to kids, where even if you’re literally correcting her when she says something wrong, she still makes a big thing of how you just </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>to argue, which then puts you in a position where you can’t say anything because if you do you’re proving her point?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, pretty much.” He frowns. “How’d you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had a lot of teachers like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh. Anyway, so then she was all like, ‘You would </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>talk to your classmates like that’, and I said, actually, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>how I talk to my classmates, because that is how I </span>
  <em>
    <span>normally talk. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And she didn’t believe me, and then I stormed off and she stormed off, and, uh -- it was just another fight, you know? But then later that night I thought about it and just burst into tears. It was totally pathetic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t pathetic,” says Herb, frowning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you’re right, it wasn’t.” He chuckles nervously. “I was, uh -- drinking at the time, actually. To cope. I stole my parents’ alcohol a lot, and I was shitfaced half the time and hungover the other half. And up until then, I thought I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>good at pretending to be sober, that none of the adults in my life ever noticed. I was really proud of myself for it. But after that fight, it hit me -- I wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>good </span>
  </em>
  <span>at hiding things, it was just that nobody </span>
  <em>
    <span>cared </span>
  </em>
  <span>enough to look.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geez, that’s awful.” He shifts uncomfortably, crossing his arms. “I feel the same way, sometimes. About how basically everyone in my school knew I was gay, but somehow I never got outed to my parents and kicked out. And I told myself it was because my sisters cared about me and didn’t want me on the streets, but then they totally cut me off when I got outed as an adult, and I realised … it wasn’t that they were choosing not to tell my parents. They just didn’t care enough to know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Or, </span>
  </em>
  <span>they didn’t want to believe the rumours?” suggests BoJack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, maybe. Does it matter? It was decades ago.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still shitty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. It is.” He finally allows himself to relax, wrapping his arms around BoJack and melting into the contact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And hey, want to hear what my therapist said about parents?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb raises an eyebrow. “Something annoying, probably?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah, it was. Everything she said was annoying, but a lot of it was also helpful, and that’s why I remembered. The important thing to remember, Herb, is -- what your family did to you, that will </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>be okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb’s face falls. “Yeah.”</span><br/>

  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“But </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>can learn to be okay with it.” He leans in a little closer. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“That’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> the important thing.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Missing Piece</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Herb attempts to mark some of BoJack's college assignments for him; Princess Carolyn visits Judah.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He thinks he already knows the answer, but he asks anyway. “Did you sleep?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack looks at Herb. Herb looks at BoJack. After a few uneasy seconds of eye contact, Herb instead looks at the desk, which is littered with several sheets of paper that are almost all stained with coffee spilled from one of the many half-empty mugs, probably presenting a huge risk when coupled with the fact that his laptop is in the middle of the desk. “What do you think, egg sharpener?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb tilts his head. “Egg sharpener?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, I haven’t slept in, like…” He briefly attempts to do the mental math, then gives up. “Honestly, I don’t know if I </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>slept.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You pull </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>all-nighter and the entire concept of sleep is now foreign to you? Wow, high school must have been fun for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was mostly drunk in high school.” He slams his head forward onto the desk, then quickly sits back up properly. “Remind me again whose stupid-ass idea it was for me to have a day job as an actor </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>have to mark the online work for Wesleyan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mine,” answers Herb guiltily. “But, in my defense, it was the break when I suggested it! And I didn’t realise that the break would eventually end, like it always does.” BoJack gives him a look. “...You know, it might be easier if you just teach me the marking criteria and let me take over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, probably.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to make breakfast?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No need.” He waves a hand dismissively. “I made myself breakfast at four AM. It was cereal with coffee instead of milk. I don’t know if my heart will ever recover.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...That sounds, um. Bad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No shit, Sherlock.” He takes a piece of paper from the pile. “You know what, I’m nearly done. There’s just this </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>video left and if you mark it for me, I might live long enough to see if you did a good job. Here’s the marking criteria.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb takes the paper and stares at it. “...This is an essay about how hair dye works.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is? Huh.” He snatches the page from Herb and folds it up into a wad of paper which he throws in the general direction of the bin, then finds another sheet. “This should be it. I’m going to bed.” He stands up, leaning on the table for support, and staggers off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb sits down uncertainly at the table, presses play on the video, and frowns.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>This is stupid. She knows that, if she allows herself to think about it for more than two and a half seconds at a time, and she also knows that her reluctance to let herself think about it for more than two and a half seconds at a time is even </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>stupid. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>that this entire thing is beyond idiotic, and that now that Ruthie’s finally asleep she should work on cleaning up around the house or something, and she shouldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to talk to him anyway because they already see each other five days a week, but, well … her finger’s already tapped the button.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s too late to back out now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes him a few moments to answer. “This is Judah speaking. What is your reason for calling?” As usual, there’s no regard for pleasantries or greetings. It doesn’t bother her like it used to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Judah, are you … busy? At the moment?” She paces around the room uncertainly. “Ruthie’s asleep, and all of my other friends are busy with bizarre schemes, and I was wondering if…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we could meet up in close proximity for an extended period of time and interact with each other?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinks. “If we could hang out, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m practicing playing guitar at the moment,” he explains flatly. “You’re free to visit my home and listen, if you wish.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got Ruthie, though. Is that okay?” She gnaws on her lower lip, frowning. She’s suddenly uncertain, terrified that she’ll be overstaying her welcome by bringing a baby that might well start screeching and crying again on the ride over. “Todd’s busy, so I don’t know if I can get another babysitter, but --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ruthie can come.” She’s taken aback a little by just how straightforward he is. That’s odd, because if there’s anyone who she should expect to be straightforward, it’s Judah Mannowdog. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, okay. I might be over in a bit.” She waits to see if he’ll respond, then hangs up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She waits a little longer, for some reason.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her phone rings again. She answers it immediately, just in case it’s Judah telling her something of great importance that she hung up before she could hear, but instead it’s Herb who speaks. “Hey, PC, you got a second?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh … maybe?” She frowns uncertainly. “What do you need?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An in-depth explanation on how to mark college assignments.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Long story. Can you just --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Herb, it’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>decades </span>
  </em>
  <span>since I was in college.” She sighs. “I gotta go. I’ll call you back later if I get the chance, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...” He sighs. “Okay.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The coat makes her hesitate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In purely practical terms, no, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>need it, not even remotely. She stopped wearing it a while back, after the antidepressants made her gain weight, and it probably doesn’t even remotely fit anymore. More to the point, there is absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>no </span>
  </em>
  <span>conceivable reason why she would need a coat that thick in the middle of Texas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, no conceivable reason so far. It’s 2020, enough bizarre things have happened this year, what’s another one or two? And, the coat still </span>
  <em>
    <span>smells </span>
  </em>
  <span>like him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t know how. She’s not even sure if he has a distinctive smell, and if he does, she’s certainly gotten so used to it enough after months of living with him that she wouldn’t reliably be able to detect it. She still shoves her face into the plush fabric and breathes it in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, this is </span>
  <em>
    <span>frivolous. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Perhaps not frivolous on the same level of the millionaire who owns two houses and a boat that he impulse-brought, but, still. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Frivolous. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Unnecessary. Taking more than what she needs, when there are probably people out there that could really benefit from having a nice coat in Chicago </span>
  <em>
    <span>spring, </span>
  </em>
  <span>which is less like actual spring and more like half of a boy band. Or, better yet, they could really benefit from having a nice coat in Chicago </span>
  <em>
    <span>winter, </span>
  </em>
  <span>which is a time of year that always makes her feel like the cows must be nearly home, what with Hell freezing over and all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, she’s already donated most of her other warm clothes to charities and thrift stores and the like, and doesn’t she get to just keep </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>one? </span>
  <em>
    <span>This </span>
  </em>
  <span>one, that was picked out specifically for her, the one that made her angry at first because </span>
  <em>
    <span>the only way she would need this is if she was planning on staying in Chicago, </span>
  </em>
  <span>which then led into her </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually </span>
  </em>
  <span>moving to Chicago -- doesn’t all of that history count for </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Surely it counts for </span>
  <em>
    <span>something.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She frowns. Maybe that’s a reason she </span>
  <em>
    <span>shouldn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>take it. If the coat was what made her move to Chicago, then maybe by taking it to Houston, she’s jinxing herself, guaranteeing that something will go </span>
  <em>
    <span>horribly </span>
  </em>
  <span>wrong at the last possible second and force her to stay somewhere cold, where she actually needs it. Maybe they’ll go back into lockdown, or maybe she’ll end up getting sick and have to stay in hospital, or maybe BoJack will choose the worst possible time to relapse on his alcoholism, break into his own house, and leave her an ominous guilt-trippy voicemail at three in the morning about how he’ll kill himself if she doesn’t call him back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shakes her head. There is </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally </span>
  </em>
  <span>no reason why BoJack would choose the worst possible time to relapse on his alcoholism, break into his own house, and leave her an ominous guilt-trippy voicemail at three in the morning about how he’ll kill himself if she doesn’t call him back, in this universe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She feels a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not overthinking,” she says automatically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Guy stares at her. “So, how long have you been staring at that coat for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Does it matter?” She folds up the coat and shoves it into a suitcase. “Okay, I’ll take it. Happy now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very.” He ruffles her hair affectionately. “Also, your phone’s ringing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is?” She finally hears it, and quickly picks up the device. The caller ID displays Herb’s name on her lock screen. “Hey, Herb, what’s up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know how to mark college assignments?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinks. “Um, why would I know how to mark college assignments?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, you went to college more recently than PC?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...</span>
  <em>
    <span>What?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>She frowns. “Wait, why do you need to know, anyway? You’re not a college teacher.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“BJ needs some help. And I agreed to do it because he pulled an all-nighter and needed to rest, but I’m clueless! Can you help me out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh…” Grimacing, she looks around at the room, at the several objects she still needs to decide whether to keep or throw. “I’m kinda busy preparing for the move…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” He groans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s -- it’s fine. It’s fine.” He sighs. “I’ll go see if Todd knows.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tilts her head, frowning. “I thought Todd didn’t go to college?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He didn’t, but he knows a lot of things he shouldn’t know. I don’t question it.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>If the phone rings, he certainly isn’t aware of it. It’s tucked away in his pocket, safely in silent mode so that any incoming calls won’t disrupt the task at hand. He crouches under the bridge and tries to breathe as quietly as possible. When he dares whisper a quick, “Thank you so much for agreeing to do this,” to Sarah Lynn next to him, he hears his own words echo a thousand times over. “I would have asked Margo Martindale, but she was busy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem,” says Sarah Lynn, also whispering. “How’s Maude?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, she’s -- she’s good,” he pants. “How’s BoJack? And Herb?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Herb.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>The name sounds bitter on their tongue. “He’s been a real pain in the ass lately.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“BoJack’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>super </span>
  </em>
  <span>busy marking work and being an actor, so when Herb needs to ‘bounce some ideas around’ for his shitty novel, he calls </span>
  <em>
    <span>me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s the </span>
  <em>
    <span>worst! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Do you have any </span>
  <em>
    <span>idea </span>
  </em>
  <span>how annoying it is to spend three hours thinking of ‘creative’ ways to say who the detective is having sex with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Todd cringes slightly and frowns. “Why does he need to think of ‘creative’ ways to say it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” they explain. “Even though it’s marketed as adults, he’s doing some </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing where he only uses the F-word once or twice, for the </span>
  <em>
    <span>big moments </span>
  </em>
  <span>or whatever. And he’s saving the F-word for when the main character has a huge fight with his husband who is an asshole in chapter fourteen, so chapter eleven just has to have </span>
  <em>
    <span>several </span>
  </em>
  <span>mentions of </span>
  <em>
    <span>b’thumping.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He stares at them. “I can’t tell if that’s a genuine euphemism or just a thing Herb made up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m never sure.” Their eyes light up. “Here’s the thing, Todd. I once got so high I could see the future, and let me tell you, 2020 is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>of a year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Todd blinks. “...And?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I mean, not just in general. Although, we </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>only halfway through the bullshit.” They clear their throat. “The thing is, Herb’s got an </span>
  <em>
    <span>attitude. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And that attitude--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh shit, she’s here!” He immediately straightens up. “Quick, pretend to hold me hostage!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarah Lynn gets into position and holds a fake knife across Todd’s neck. “Give me your Frito pies!”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>She turns over every last cushion, checks under the desk more times than she can count, uses her phone as a torch to check every corner of the room, and manages to fold a crease in the box with how many times she shakes it, but it remains empty. She’s on the verge of </span>
  <em>
    <span>very carefully </span>
  </em>
  <span>moving the almost-completed puzzle to the floor or the desk so she can check under the sheets without destroying it, but she doesn’t trust herself to lift it up on her own, and of course she can’t ask for help with </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>without having eight gay idiots falling over themselves -- and each other -- to help her in any possible way they can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ringing phone is a welcome distraction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She quickly checks the caller ID, to make sure it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>annoying </span>
  </em>
  <span>Joby -- she used to think he was cute, but it turned out his laugh really </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>dumb, as was most of the stuff he laughed at -- and, upon seeing Herb’s name, answers it. “Hey, Herb, what’s up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you mark college assignments?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinks. “Uh, usually I don’t, but --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“BJ pulled an all-nighter trying to mark monologues and I told him I’d finish for him because he was eating cereal with coffee instead of milk and I thought he was going to give himself a heart attack,” rambles Herb breathlessly. “But I have no </span>
  <em>
    <span>idea </span>
  </em>
  <span>what I’m doing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool.” She clicks her teeth. “Uh, the thing is, I’m not a teacher either, so I don’t know why you think I would know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, you have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>assignments, though,” he protests. “So you must have some idea how your teachers mark the things, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah, I guess,” she mutters, starting to pace around her bedroom. “But normally I just try to do the things on the marking criteria that’ll get me an A. Did BoJack give you a marking criteria, or … ?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, that’s the </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupidest </span>
  </em>
  <span>part!” He groans. “It’s like, I’m looking at the marking criteria right now. And it’s not … </span>
  <em>
    <span>working? </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s like, the words together, they’re not b’thumping. Ugh, I’m an English major, I should be better!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah, you should. B’thumping? There is no way that’s a thing, and I can’t tell what you mean based on context.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh. I’m sorry.” There’s a short pause. “Okay, so it’s like -- I’m looking at the marking criteria. I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>reading </span>
  </em>
  <span>the marking criteria. And, and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>what the words mean, but it’s like, I try to put them </span>
  <em>
    <span>together </span>
  </em>
  <span>so the whole sentence means something, and then --” He makes a series of increasingly bizarre noises, ending with what sounds like a short acapella rendering of a stereotypical advertisement jingle. “Did you hear that? It’s the sound of my brain, just </span>
  <em>
    <span>casually </span>
  </em>
  <span>stepping out of my head, walking out the front door, and going to get McDonald’s.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hollyhock pauses. “So, what I’m hearing is, you cannot vibe with the marking criteria.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Uh, yeah, I guess. I can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>vibe </span>
  </em>
  <span>with it.” He seems vaguely aware of the word’s newfound popularity, but from the way it rests on his tongue, he seems to have not said it himself very much. “It’s unvibeable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hollyhock quickly moves a hand to her mouth so Herb won’t hear her laughing at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Unvibeable?” says Herb again. “Is, is that what the hip and cool youngsters are saying? ...No?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” says Hollyhock gently, just barely managing to keep her face straight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh. Anyway, the assignment! I promised BJ I’d help and I haven’t made any progress. Why can’t I just figure out what I’m meant to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing?!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, I dunno. Maybe you’re brainweird?” When he doesn’t respond apart from a slightly confused noise, she adds, “You know, like, neurodivergent?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I think I’m just an oddball. You know?” She opens her mouth to protest, but he cuts her off. “Okay, this clearly isn’t working. Do you know a kid called Jennifer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jennifer?” She smirks. “I think Tawnie has a crush on her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, then, I’m giving her an A because I can vibe with lesbianism.” He breathes a sigh of relief. “Should have tried that first, shouldn’t I? Anyway, how have you been?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, I’m super annoyed!” She starts pacing faster, staring at the puzzle on her bed. “I brought one of those gimmicky thousand-piece jigsaw puzzles online because I was bored at home, and I spent </span>
  <em>
    <span>hours </span>
  </em>
  <span>putting it together, but there’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>piece missing! And I’ve looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>everywhere</span>
  </em>
  <span> for it, but I can’t find it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pauses. “Did you check the inside of the box?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, like, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>kajillion </span>
  </em>
  <span>times. Maybe the previous owner lost it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...You got a jigsaw puzzle second-hand?” He sighs. “Well, thanks for your help. Bye.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>She’d be lying if she said she has a clue what this song is </span>
  <em>
    <span>about. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Or, more accurately, </span>
  <em>
    <span>who -- </span>
  </em>
  <span>the fact that it’s a love song is clear, but who would Judah </span>
  <em>
    <span>love? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Not her, certainly, that would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>unlikely. Perhaps some friend from outside of work, if he has friends, which he almost certainly does considering that he’s in a band, but, well -- Judah isn’t the sort of person you look at and think, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wow, he must be popular. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’s the sort of person you talk to for a few minutes and think, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wow, he must be fun at parties, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and of course you think it sarcastically, but he fails to pick up on that when you vocalise the thought and numbly expresses his shock that you could make such a bizarre and untrue assumption.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I strive for precision,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he sings.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“My aim is to be accurate and clear,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t say things I don’t know to be true,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So believe me when I tell you that I love you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She tries to tell herself that maybe Judah’s heart isn’t set on some other person, that maybe a bandmate wrote it, but the lyrics and the flat delivery just </span>
  <em>
    <span>reek </span>
  </em>
  <span>of Judah. Unless all of his bandmates are exactly like him in personality? That sounds almost comically unlikely. Then again, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>called the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Spectrum </span>
  </em>
  <span>of Enchantment, which could be a reference to autism -- except, there’s no way a couple of Judah clones would get together and decide to name their band after a pun, so at least one of them would have to be a tad more creative.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t write good love songs,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not adept with metaphors or rhymes,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I just want to describe the things I know,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And the only thing I know is that I love you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Please believe me when I tell you that I love you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, she’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>to believe him, but this is just </span>
  <em>
    <span>some love song, </span>
  </em>
  <span>clearly not directed at her. She just sits there, on his couch, gently rocking Ruthie in the hope that she won’t wake up and ruin the moment. Judah’s, frankly, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrible </span>
  </em>
  <span>singer, and she has to assume that his role when they have the whole band together would be purely on guitar, but she listens anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...Please believe me when I tell you that I love you.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He looks up from his guitar. He doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite </span>
  </em>
  <span>meet her eye, but he certainly comes a lot closer than he usually does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He strums a final chord.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, Princess Carolyn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiles. “...Hmm.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>He’s halfway through doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing -- </span>
  </em>
  <span>which, he’ll have you know, is a very important part of his </span>
  <em>
    <span>self-care, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and there’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>wrong with watching </span>
  <em>
    <span>Horsin’ Around </span>
  </em>
  <span>every time he’s home alone -- when they have the goddamn </span>
  <em>
    <span>nerve </span>
  </em>
  <span>to call him, and right in the middle of an episode, too. He picks up the stupid phone, trying to pay attention to the TV while he does it so he won’t forget what happens in this episode and get confused later on -- and of course, it’s unlikely that he’d forget since he’s watched this one twenty times and had to perform it more times than that before it was good enough, but it all sort of blends together. “This had </span>
  <em>
    <span>better </span>
  </em>
  <span>not be some reverse onion bullshit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pause. “Huh?” says Sarah Lynn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it was a stupid thing you said once, three years ago, and it turned into an inside joke. What’s up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s up?” they repeat incredulously. “What’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>up? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dude, why the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>won’t Herb pick up the goddamn phone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm? Oh, it’s probably on silent.” Herb changed his ringtone a few weeks ago because he was sick of not knowing whether it was his phone or BoJack’s that was ringing, except then he found that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated </span>
  </em>
  <span>the sound of his new ringtone, so rather than change it to a different one or change it back he just turned it to silent mode so he wouldn’t have to hear it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, well, can you get him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, can’t, he’s out with a friend. I can pass on a message?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a short pause. “Herb went out with a friend </span>
  <em>
    <span>without you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah? He has a life outside of me, and I’m not even friends with the person in question. I’d just be awkwardly third wheeling them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s just, I didn’t realise Herb had friends that aren’t just his friends because they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>friends, you know?” They chuckle nervously. “I never really think about his existence outside of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Okay?” He sighs. “Look, uh, I can tell him you called when he gets back, okay? I can even pass on a message if you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, don’t bother,” they insist. “That would be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>whole </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing, you know? You’d have to write it down and that’d be a pain in the ass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you’re right, I don’t even remember where I left my pen. Long message, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not really </span>
  <em>
    <span>long, </span>
  </em>
  <span>just -- hard to remember, you know? I’m meant to be passing on Doctor Hu’s contact details, which, as you know, is a whole thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack frowns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>know,” he corrects.</span><br/>

  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Well, I’m pretty sure you could, you know, infer that it’s a whole thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t exactly had much </span>
  <em>
    <span>time </span>
  </em>
  <span>to infer that it’s a whole thing, considering that this is the first I’ve heard of it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude, it’s not like you need </span>
  <em>
    <span>time </span>
  </em>
  <span>to infer it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up!” he snaps. His frown deepens. “Why didn’t I know about this? Why didn’t he ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>for Doctor Hu’s contact details?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, probably because he didn’t think you’d know? I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends </span>
  </em>
  <span>with Doctor Hu. I mean, </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>you know Doctor Hu’s contact details?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but I would have liked to be asked.” He starts pacing around the room. “Why the heck does Herb want to get in contact with a pediatrician, anyway? Last I checked he’s not a kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>pretty short.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...He </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>short…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, right? It’s like, you know how people are meant to get all shorter when they’re old and shit? If Herb gets any shorter he’ll just be, like, a crater in the ground or some shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raises an eyebrow. “...Slight exaggeration?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groans and smacks himself in the forehead. “Ugh, focus! What does Herb want to do with a pediatrician?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno. I kinda thought you’d know?” There’s a short pause. “Did he seriously not, like, tell you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If he’d told me, would we be having this conversation?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>notoriously unobservant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s not it.” He shakes his head. “This is weird. Herb normally tells me stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I dunno. Just, do me a favour, and when he gets home, tell him to call me, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack stops pacing and sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll tell him.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Everything's Funny</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Princess Carolyn goes on a date with Judah.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Her nose immediately perks up at the smell, and some motherly instinct has her hold Ruthie’s tiny body a little closer to hers, as though that can protect her from the smoke. She glances around for the source of the scent, frowning, and a part of her already has a very strong feeling as to who it may be, because, well, who else would start smoking near a baby?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She quickly corrects herself by realising that </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone </span>
  </em>
  <span>would start smoking near a baby, if they didn’t know there happened to be an infant nearby, and since most smokers </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>smoke to cope with stress, it’s not impossible that one might be too caught up in their own anxiety to think to check. So, she turns sharply, in the hope that whoever it is will be some well-meaning stranger that will quickly leave if requested, and discovers that she was right all along.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s standing there, leaning on the hood of his yellow Tesla, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he stares at a specific point on the fence. She tries to get his attention subtly, because she can’t just </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ruthie and she doesn’t want to take her closer to the smoke either, but he seems </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>focused on the white paint of the fence, so she has to hiss his name to get a response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“BoJack!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns sharply. “Oh, shit, didn’t see you there.” He inhales another large breath full of cigarette smoke. She gestures frantically toward the baby in her arms until he gets the message. He looks at her like she’s being unreasonable, then drops the cigarette to the ground and puts it out with his shoe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hesitantly, she takes a step closer. “What are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Picking Herb up,” he answers gruffly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She frowns. “But Herb’s car is in the driveway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m his designated driver.” He waves a hand dismissively. Princess Carolyn narrows her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“BoJack,” she explains, still frowning. “I’ve been here for fifteen minutes because I was anxious.” She neglects to mention that when she first arrived, she was so eager she knocked on the door with the assumption that he couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>possibly </span>
  </em>
  <span>be busy, and discovered to her great shock that not only did Judah predictably have a life outside of work, Herb had a life outside of BoJack. “They’re not drunk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well…” He sighs. His hand reaches for his back pocket, which contains a suspiciously rectangular lump and the beginnings of an anti-smoking message printed on cardboard peeking out, but she gives him a look and he quickly moves his hand. “I’ve, uh. I’ve gotta talk to him about something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” She leans in a little closer, like a schoolgirl waiting to hear the latest gossip. BoJack doesn’t comment on her sudden childishness -- probably because he has approximately the emotional range of a ten-year-old himself -- but he does cross his arms defensively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s kind of personal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stares at him. He doesn’t look </span>
  <em>
    <span>angry -- </span>
  </em>
  <span>a little miffed, perhaps, but not really </span>
  <em>
    <span>angry. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Herb, probably, hasn’t done anything wrong, at least not on purpose. His grumpy demeanor reminds her of when she first got promoted to be his agent, a career move which she neglected to tell him about until it had already happened, so she wouldn’t have to go through the shame of telling her that she was still just an assistant if anything went wrong. He spent an impressive seventeen minutes ranting about how of course she didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to tell him, but it would have been nice if she </span>
  <em>
    <span>had, </span>
  </em>
  <span>until Herb told him to quit sulking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of all of the people unfortunate enough to have come into contact with BoJack Horseman, Herb is the best at getting him to quit sulking. So, whatever this is, it’ll probably blow over before the day’s finished, and end up being of little to no overall significance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She still feels like she wants to act childish. “Ooh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>in trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack raises an eyebrow. “In trouble? I’m not in charge of Herb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just, you seem kinda annoyed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.” He frowns. “What are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>doing here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, uh…” Blood rushes to her cheeks. “I have a date with Judah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...With Ruthie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She cradles Ruthie defensively. “We’re dropping her off with Todd on the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“We?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>echoes BoJack, grinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice drops to a whisper. “You know, I think we might really </span>
  <em>
    <span>be </span>
  </em>
  <span>something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” He smirks. “Good luck with </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>one.” He grins at her like he’s implying something. She frowns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, since he’s…” He gestures vaguely. His voice drops to a whisper like he’s about to say something that would get him fired, but before he can say it, the front door opens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for having me,” says Herb, walking backwards outside while facing Judah. “It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>cool listening to you talk about music theory for three hours straight. Makes me wish I hadn’t given up on -- BJ?” He frowns, turning to face him. “What are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>check your phone?” asks BoJack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb, still frowning, takes his phone out of his pocket. “...Oh. What did you want to talk about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the car,” answers BoJack, nodding toward the Tesla. Herb uncertainly goes to the car, and climbs in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” says Judah in the pause that follows. “I will most likely have to contact Herb at a later date to remind him to remove his car from my driveway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That seems like a whole thing,” says Princess Carolyn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not understand why that is such a commonly used phrase. The definition of the word ‘thing’ is so broad that specifying something to be a ‘whole thing’ is unnecessary, as most people would argue that the result of dividing a ‘whole thing’ in half would not be ‘half’ of a thing, but instead constitute its own thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I apologise for rambling.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, it’s fine, it’s just --” She gestures vaguely. “You said the word ‘thing’ a lot in that sentence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She chuckles nervously, elbowing him in the ribs. “Thought your aim was to be accurate and </span>
  <em>
    <span>clear?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please do not hit me with your elbow like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sorry.” She takes a step back from him on instinct. “So, uh, did you have anything planned?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are aware that I planned to go on a romantic date with you,” says Judah flatly. “You requested the specifics remain unsaid, to ‘surprise’ you, as you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” she says through gritted teeth. “What I meant was, you’ve planned this all out, right? Or are you just winging it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m offended,” says Judah in his least offended voice. “I never ‘just wing’ things. I always plan out my schedule in great detail.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” She grins. “So…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As answer, he opens the door to his own car, which is very nearly blocked in by Herb’s. “I’ll drive you there.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>After dropping Ruthie off, she sits in the passenger seat of the car with her eyes closed, as though being able to see where she’s going would spoil the surprise. She actually starts getting nauseous pretty quickly from this -- who knew she actually needed to see where she was going in order to make sense of the peculiar sensation of </span>
  <em>
    <span>motion? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Nausea overpowers excitement, so she opens her eyes; curiosity overpowers it soon after. “Where are we going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A restaurant.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pouts. “That’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” answers Judah, not looking at her but instead focusing on the road. “We are going to a restaurant first, after which we will engage in other enjoyable activities.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.” She straightens out a crease in her skirt. “Which restaurant?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hell if I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn spends longer than she’d like to admit trying to wrap her head around that, because there is no </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>that Judah Mannowdog, of all people, would fail to pick a restaurant in advance, and even less way that he would use such a colloquial expression. It’s not until they pull up in front of Elefante that she makes the connection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except, it’s not Elefante. She’d forgotten about the name change, and the … </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything else </span>
  </em>
  <span>change. She thought BoJack was a lousy restaurant owner, but Mr. Peanutbutter is evidently even worse, judging by his decision to use the “Lazy Susan” gimmick in conjunction with the “small plates” gimmick. When they go inside, it’s almost completely empty. She has a feeling that’s not just due to the pandemic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sit down and a goat waitress places two menus on the increasingly confusing table. After a moment, she recognises Judah and says, “The usual?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” says Judah flatly. “And, Princess Carolyn, what would you like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh…” She skims the menu quickly. There’s an unusual amount of pressure, now, with Judah already having ordered and the waitress clearly waiting on her and her alone. She’s very acutely aware of the fact that </span>
  <em>
    <span>she’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>the one holding them up, and that makes her feel self-conscious, and it’s not helping that Mr. Peanutbutter has implemented some </span>
  <em>
    <span>bizarre </span>
  </em>
  <span>menu changes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>she starts laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The waitress stares at her as she bursts into an inexplicable fit of giggles, like Ruthie does sometimes when she hears a joke too funny for her small mind to comprehend, like “Peekaboo!” Except, Princess Carolyn </span>
  <em>
    <span>hasn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>heard the height of comedy, at least not recently, because she just spent twenty minutes in a car ride with Judah Mannowdog, who isn’t exactly known for his great sense of humour. She’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>here, </span>
  </em>
  <span>with </span>
  <em>
    <span>him, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and paradoxically, when she’s with him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything’s funny.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” she finally says, holding a hand over her mouth so she won’t start giggling again. “I’ll, uh -- I’ll have the pancakes.” As the waitress jots this down and leaves, she adds to Judah, “Can’t go wrong with pancakes, can you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is definitely possible to make pancakes that are inedible or otherwise undesirable,” says Judah flatly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>say, </span>
  </em>
  <span>“You know, just </span>
  <em>
    <span>once </span>
  </em>
  <span>I would like to say something without you taking it too literally and correcting me,” but she certainly thinks it very loudly. Instead, she says, “You sound like you’re talking from experience.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I once attempted to make pancakes for my bandmates. You may have guessed based on the context of my telling this story that it did not go well.” He starts absentmindedly tracing the wood of the table with his finger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing that would make a compelling story from a narrative perspective. I forgot I was making pancakes and so did my bandmates. This caused the pancakes to be burnt to the point of being inedible, although Victoria did attempt to eat them regardless.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tilts her head to one side. “Victoria?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One of my bandmates. She plays double bass. She also happens to be the only member of the band who is able to consistently grasp metaphorical language, and because of this she regularly gets annoyed with us for misinterpreting what she says.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean…” She gestures vaguely. “I get that it’s frustrating, but she should kind of be prepared for it, if she’s going to be in a band with you and everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As stated in one of our songs, our aim is to be accurate and clear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She frowns. “Wait, that’s -- that’s actually the aim of the band? Not just a lyric you put in one song?” At his small nod, she adds, “I don’t know what I expected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The goat waitress comes back and places several comically small plates on the many Lazy Susans adorning the table. Princess Carolyn starts eating her pancakes. “Tell me about your bandmates.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes Judah a moment to answer. “Well, there’s myself and Victoria, as previously stated. There’s also my friend Violet, who plays keyboard. She was a big inspiration for the main character of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Taking Things, Literally.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because she takes things literally?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, because she is a known kleptomaniac. She regularly steals small objects from chain stores such as Walmart purely to spite what she sees as a symbol of capitalist society.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you do.” She swallows down a bite of pancakes. “How did you guys meet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We shared a music class in high school and became friends by virtue of the fact that none of us had any friends outside of that class. After graduating from high school, we kept in touch. It was Victoria who suggested forming a band.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She frowns. “You didn’t have many friends growing up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was an undiagnosed autistic teenager in the late 90s. I behaved oddly and my social skills were atrocious. You can imagine how other teenagers would have reacted to this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.” She genuinely is. “That must have been awful.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was. My mental health and self-esteem suffered greatly for it, exacerbated by my own lack of understanding as to my own behaviours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.” She eats another forkful of mediocre pancakes. “When were you diagnosed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In late 2004,” he answers flatly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’d it take so long? You’re basically a walking stereotype.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stereotypes are intangible. They cannot walk.” After a pause in which Princess Carolyn struggles greatly to keep a straight face, he adds, “The lack of awareness as to the symptoms of autism up until fairly recently meant that the idea didn’t occur to me until Violet was diagnosed and I began to look further into the subject. I later found out that she had theorised for several years that I was, quote, ‘obviously autistic’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Well, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>kind of obvious.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am now aware of that.” He clears his throat. “How is your food?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, it’s okay. This restaurant’s kinda jumped the shark.” The second the word is out of her mouth, she regrets it, but Judah fails to say anything. She stares at him. “...Aren’t you gonna say anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Such as?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno.” She puts on a monotone in her best impression of Judah’s voice. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“This restaurant cannot jump the shark as it does not have legs. I do not understand why that is such a commonly used phrase. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That kind of thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>understand why that is such a commonly used phrase,” he explains. “The term ‘jumping the shark’ became shorthand for when a TV show, and later any form of media or even attractions other than media -- such as, in your example, a restaurant -- had a change that was perceived as a severe drop in quality, as a reference to the episode </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hollywood: Part Three </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the sitcom </span>
  <em>
    <span>Happy Days, </span>
  </em>
  <span>in which a scene of Fonzie literally jumping over a shark while water skiing was seen as being symbolic of the sitcom’s excessive focus on what was once only a supporting character.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn blinks. “...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why </span>
  </em>
  <span>do you know that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have an impressive array of out-of-the-way knowledge.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I gathered.” She nudges the shitty pancakes with her fork. “What’s it like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please elaborate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Being autistic. What’s it like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is a very difficult question to answer, considering that I have no reference point for what it’s like to not be autistic,” he answers. "It’s also a very vague and open-ended question. You do not seem to be enjoying your food.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shifts in her seat. “It’s not very good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, the food quality has been highly debatable since all of the cooks were fired and replaced with unqualified taxi drivers that the owner happens to like. Would you like to stop at the drive-through of a fast food restaurant on our way to our next destination?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That … sounds nice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judah stands up. He leans on the table, causing some of the comically small plates to move slightly. Princess Carolyn giggles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing’s funny. She giggles anyway, because when she’s with him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything’s funny.</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Her hands are still greasy from the fast food, and she’s oddly conscious of that as she pushes the door open. She knows Judah probably won’t mind a bit of grease on the passenger side of his car, but she still tries to touch it as little as possible, and wipes her hands on her skirt. The teenager who served them evidently didn’t think their minimum wage pay was enough to justify giving out serviettes unless explicitly asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What now?” she asks eagerly. She kept her eyes closed on the ride over, to keep it a ‘surprise’, but now she can’t see the point. She recognises the area, she’s been here before, but not often, purely because there is </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>here. Nothing of interest, anyway -- a few houses, a children’s playground, a grocery store that has opening hours changing by approximately a minute each day to disguise the fact that it’s so utterly uninteresting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please be patient,” says Judah flatly. He steps out of the car and takes her grease-covered hand. Slowly, but surely, he leads her out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The spot he chooses is on the top of an otherwise insignificant grassy hill, but she trusts him, so when he gestures for her to sit down, she does so with little complaint. He takes a seat next to her, not literally, and looks up. The sky is a sort of greyish-blue, tainted by the smoke of the busy city, but the few people living nearby have evidently already gone to bed for the night, allowing it to be actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>dark. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The stars are just starting to come out, tiny little white dots, like holes poked into the sky. It reminds her of the shitty projectors that Vigor used to have, with tiny dots all over the wall showing where some fifteen-year-old had somehow been able to put white-out over the projector.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“...Is this it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m offended,” says Judah. He doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>sound </span>
  </em>
  <span>offended, but she chooses to take his words over his tone. “This is a spot of great significance to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I often come here in the evenings in order to decompress or relax,” he explains. “It’s one of the few places in Ollywoo in which I can consistently see the stars. I find it soothing to look at them after a stressful day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn hums slightly and nods, and tries to act like she doesn’t find the act of looking at the sky incredibly </span>
  <em>
    <span>boring </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>pointless </span>
  </em>
  <span>and overall just a waste of time she could otherwise use to do important things. Then, she remembers that Judah, if left to his own devices, will either ramble on at great length about a specific topic or sit there in complete silence, and if she wants the conversation to keep going she’ll have to pick up the slack. She digs around in her mind for something to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hesitates. “...Stimming?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judah turns to face her. For the first time to her knowledge, he actually shows outward signs of emotion. His eyes widen, if only a little, in a barely perceptible expression of shock and surprise. Then, even more surprising, his lips curl upward. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>smiles. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>of a thing to see, Judah Mannowdog smiling. Her heart starts beating faster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I find it very hard to believe that you happened to come across that term by accident during your regular Internet browsing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fire rises up in her cheeks and she places a hand on her mouth to stifle a giggle. “I might have researched a little.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A little? It would have taken quite extensive research to find anything that was by the autistic community, rather than neurotypical people with autistic relatives.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well…” She gestures vaguely, then leans a little closer to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long, painful silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks up. “Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suspected that you may have done research into the autistic community,” he elaborates. “I noticed that you usually showed little to no reaction when I referred to myself as autistic, while many neurotypical people would ‘correct’ me by insisting that I refer to myself as a person with autism.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Identity-first language, yeah. I, uh -- I did some reading.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Thank you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her cheeks grow even hotter. “If you’re gonna thank someone, thank Todd. He made the Wikihow Article Recommender app.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will thank Todd at a later date.” He wraps a strong arm around her shoulders. “You’re an excellent ally.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Thank you.” She’s acutely aware of the fact that nobody can see them, for some reason. “Hey, Judah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I feel … </span>
  <em>
    <span>young.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>The look he gives her is just as stoic as ever, but somehow she knows that he needs elaboration. “I mean -- I’ve always wanted to be a mother. That’s been a big part of who I am. And before I had Ruthie, I would try to satisfy that part of me by taking care of other people. Normally, being in a relationship makes me feel mature, and responsible, because I’m proving to myself that I can take care of other people as well as myself. Ruthie makes me feel like that too. But…” She rests her head on his shoulder. “With you, I feel like I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be mature and responsible. I feel like I can just, just </span>
  <em>
    <span>rest, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and be a kid, and rant about Amelia Earheart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I assure you, there is no amount of ranting that could possibly phase me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She chuckles slightly. “Special interests?” At his small nodd, she adds, “Herb mentioned before -- you talked about music a lot, didn’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did,” he answers. “Musical theory is one of my special interests. It’s why I play so many instruments.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, I wish I had your talent. I can’t play any instruments.” She almost nudges him in the ribs, but stops herself. “Must be fun, huh? You know, playing flute, and guitar, and -- and piano! I’ve always wanted to play piano.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could teach you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know if I’d be any good. See?” She holds up her hand, and compares it with his, which is much bigger. “My hands are too small. I probably couldn’t do octaves. It’s easier for you, you’re a natural. You have piano hands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fortissimo hands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, she bursts out laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrible </span>
  </em>
  <span>joke. Absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>mediocre. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But her face is warm and so are some other parts of her body, and her heart is positively </span>
  <em>
    <span>pounding, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and she’s staring at a specific patch of grass instead of the sky Judah wanted to show her, but that’s okay, because just being so close to him has her </span>
  <em>
    <span>seeing stars. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Just this once, with Judah, she doesn’t have to be an adult with responsibilities. She can be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>kid, </span>
  </em>
  <span>a kid that laughs uncontrollably every time she tries to talk to her crush, because when you’re with the person you love, </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything’s funny.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When she stops laughing, Judah is staring at her. She stares back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just made a joke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just understood it.” He’s not looking at her face. The intensity of his stare makes her wonder if she’s missing something important, so she follows his gaze, and -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...Oh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s on the verge of laughing again, and her face is </span>
  <em>
    <span>burning, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and she mumbles, “Judah, my eyes are up here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judah, watching her carefully for any sign that she lacks enthusiasm, making every move slow to give her time to not consent, removes her sweater. His hands meet at the back of her neck, undoing the clasp on that </span>
  <em>
    <span>shitty </span>
  </em>
  <span>necklace, and it takes him a moment to get it undone, so she moves her hands back to do it for him. He stares deep into her eyes, like he’s boring into her soul.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I very rarely make eye contact.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Well, that was…” She takes a deep breath. “...Something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I found it to be an enjoyable experience,” says Judah, deadpan as ever, as he does up the buttons on his flannel. “Although, the grass did irritate my skin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, you should kind of expect that if you’re going to be -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>b’thumping -- </span>
  </em>
  <span>outside, in the open air, in the grass, like -- oh my god.” She buries her face in her hands and bursts into another laughing fit. When she finally manages to look Judah in the eye again, he’s staring at her quizzically. “...What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand what you mean based on context, but I’m uncertain if b’thumping is a thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s -- it’s not.” She waves a hand dismissively. “I mean, it, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is -- </span>
  </em>
  <span>but it’s not a real thing. I made it up because I thought it sounded funny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for clarifying.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She frowns. “Couldn’t you tell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can very rarely tell the difference between a joke in which one phrase is substituted for another, or a genuine attempt at metaphorical language, with the exception of some idioms which I already know the meaning of.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.” She runs a hand through his long hair. “Sounds pretty hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s one of the downsides to being autistic -- your life becomes defined by the question, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I do not understand why that is such a commonly used phrase.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not a question.” It’s not until she’s already said it that she realises how much like </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>it sounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it matter?” He sounds like her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God…” She leans into him. “I’ve never, you know, had </span>
  <em>
    <span>sex </span>
  </em>
  <span>out in the open before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither have I.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s so crazy. Seems like the sort of thing BoJack and Herb would do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I happen to know that Herb did something similar with an unspecified man prior to his relationship with BoJack, leading to intense media controversy when he was outed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.” Her eyes widen. “That reminds me. Do you know why BoJack wanted to talk to Herb, earlier?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I should check.” She initially panics when her phone isn’t in her pocket, but Judah quickly produces it; it had fallen onto the grass while she was getting undressed. She goes to her contacts and calls BoJack. It takes him a few moments to pick up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hey, Princess Carolyn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, uh…” She still feels like she’s on the verge of giggling, and talking to BoJack doesn’t help. “Just wanted to, uh, check in -- you had that </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk </span>
  </em>
  <span>with Herb, right? How’d it go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that?” The surprise in his tone seems to indicate that he had long since stopped thinking about it, that the talk concluded quite some time ago with little to no lasting consequences. Perhaps she was right to think it was just another example of BoJack sulking over nothing, that it would blow over in no time at all. “Well, uh -- I can’t really tell you the details, because, you know, Herb’s privacy, but, uh, let’s just say…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groans. She gulps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...it absolutely did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>go well.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yes, the part about the origin of the phrase "jumping the shark" is true. dont ask how i know that.</p><p>as for the stuff in the stargazing scene - stimming (short for self-stimulation) in the autistic community is slang for basically anything you do for the sake of sensory input. neurotypical readers may know this as fidget toys, satisfying gifs, etc. special interests are the word for the tendency for autistic people to have an intense interest in one specific subject.</p><p>the "fortissimo hands" joke comes from the fact that piano, while referring to the instrument, is also the italian word for quiet. because of this it's used to indicate quietness in sheet music; the opposite of piano is forte (ironically, piano the *instrument* is called that because it's short for pianoforte, because when it was made it was the first keyboard instrument to have variable volume) and louder than forte is fortissimo (which i prefer because it rolls off the tongue better than forte). when princess carolyn mentions his "piano hands", he takes it as a reference to "quiet hands", a phrase often used to prevent stimming or fidgeting in abusive therapies for autistic children. his response literally means "(very) loud hands" which is a thing said in the autistic community to combat "quiet hands".</p><p>next chapter: Shit Goes Down</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Until It's Not</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Herb has come to a realisation that threatens to shatter his perception of himself - but he doesn't need BoJack to help him pick up the pieces.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’s standing there, leaning on the hood of his yellow Tesla, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he stares at a specific point on the fence. The moving blob of pink in the corner of his eye is of little to no importance, so he continues staring blankly. Another breath of cigarette smoke seeps in through his nostrils. He inhales it gratefully, and lets himself pretend it’s just him and the cigarette, and there’s <em> nothing </em>on his mind, until he hears a familiar voice hiss his name.</p><p>“BoJack!”</p><p>He turns sharply. “Oh, shit, didn’t see you there.” He inhales another large breath full of cigarette smoke. She gestures frantically toward the baby in her arms unreasonably. Once he realises she won’t give up, he drops his cigarette to the ground and puts it out with his shoe.</p><p>Hesitantly, she takes a step closer. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>“Picking Herb up,” he answers gruffly.</p><p>She frowns. “But Herb’s car is in the driveway.”</p><p>“I’m his designated driver.” He waves a hand dismissively. Princess Carolyn narrows her eyes.</p><p>“BoJack,” she explains, still frowning. “I’ve been here for fifteen minutes because I was anxious. They’re not drunk.”</p><p>“Yeah, well…” He sighs. His hand reaches for his back pocket, which contains a suspiciously rectangular lump and the beginnings of an anti-smoking message printed on cardboard peeking out, but she gives him a look and he quickly moves his hand. “I’ve, uh. I’ve gotta talk to him about something.”</p><p>“Oh?” She leans in a little closer, like a schoolgirl waiting to hear the latest gossip. BoJack crosses his arms defensively.</p><p>“It’s kind of personal.” </p><p>She stares at him. After a moment, she seems to realise that he’s not <em> angry, </em> so she smiles a little. Which is good, because he’s <em> not </em> angry. He has literally <em> no </em> reason to be angry, none at all, and he is most certainly <em> not </em> doing that <em> thing </em>he does, where the mere idea that the people he cares about have lives outside of him makes him feel irrationally excluded, and instead of working on his own ability to cope with that feeling he pretends he has a reason to be angry. He’s just grumpy because, well -- part of coping is taking some time to sulk.</p><p>Of all of the people unfortunate enough to have come into contact with BoJack Horseman, Herb is the best at getting him to quit sulking. So, whatever this is, it’ll probably blow over before the day’s finished, and end up being of little to no overall significance. </p><p>She looks at him like she’s a gossipy teenager. “Ooh, <em> someone’s </em>in trouble.”</p><p>BoJack raises an eyebrow. “In trouble? I’m not in charge of Herb.”</p><p>“You just, you seem kinda annoyed.”</p><p>“Hmm.” He frowns. “What are <em> you </em>doing here?”</p><p>“I, uh…I have a date with Judah.”</p><p>“...With Ruthie?”</p><p>She cradles Ruthie defensively. “We’re dropping her off with Todd on the way.”</p><p><em> “We?” </em>echoes BoJack, grinning.</p><p>Her voice drops to a whisper. “You know, I think we might really <em> be </em>something.”</p><p>“Oh?” He smirks. “Good luck with <em> that </em>one.” He grins at her. She frowns.</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“You know, since he’s…” He gestures vaguely. His voice drops to a whisper like he’s about to say something that would get him fired, but before he can say it, the front door opens.</p><p>“Thanks for having me,” says Herb, walking backwards outside while facing Judah. “It was <em> so </em>cool listening to you talk about music theory for three hours straight. Makes me wish I hadn’t given up on -- BJ?” He frowns, turning to face him. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>“Don’t you <em> ever </em>check your phone?” asks BoJack.</p><p>Herb, still frowning, takes his phone out of his pocket. “...Oh. What did you want to talk about?”</p><p>“In the car,” answers BoJack, nodding toward the Tesla. </p><p>The walk to the car is a short one, but it <em> feels </em> much longer. Herb keeps his head low, staring at the rocky pavement that leads into Judah’s house, his heart <em> pounding </em> in his chest. He can’t make himself meet BoJack’s eye, and he’s sure there’s a joke in there, somewhere, if he looks hard enough, but he can’t think of what it is. It’s the proverbial <em> walk of shame -- </em> except this time, Herb doesn’t know <em> why </em>he’s ashamed.</p><p>He climbs into the passenger seat. BoJack takes a seat next to him and starts the car up. It roars into life and they start driving out of Judah’s driveway; Herb briefly thinks that he’ll have to get a taxi back there to remove his own car. That’ll be a whole thing. Even more of a whole thing than <em> this.  </em></p><p>He takes a deep breath. “What did you want to talk about?”</p><p>BoJack glances at him through the rear vision mirror and frowns. “You look anxious.”</p><p><em> Anxious </em> is the wrong word, really. Anxiety implies that he’s worried about what he’ll do <em> if </em> something happens, that there’s a possibility nothing will happen at all. What Herb feels is closer to <em> dread, </em> because he <em> knows </em> that he’s keeping wholly unsustainable secrets and it’s only a matter of time before <em> somebody </em>finds out. </p><p>Instead of saying this, he says, “Of course I’m anxious. You pulled the <em> ‘I need to talk to you’ </em> card. That’s a dick move, by the way -- you’re just making me <em> feel </em> like you’re mad at me for no reason, instead of telling me what you want to talk <em> about.” </em></p><p>“Sorry,” says BoJack guiltily. “I, uh, I didn’t want to -- to say it in front of Judah and Princess Carolyn, you know? And if I’d said it in the text, he might have seen it on your lock screen or something, I don’t know. It would have been awkward.”</p><p>The words <em> he knows </em> run in circles through Herb’s mind, which is stupid, because he <em> doesn’t </em> know. There’s no <em> way </em> he could know. BoJack can barely read between the lines enough to tell that Herb <em> wishes </em> he would put the dishes in the dishwasher instead of beside it like an idiot, let alone enough to know the inner workings of his mind. And, he <em> has </em>been researching the topic quite extensively -- but he always checked that he’d switched to a different tab before he left the computer unattended, even for a second! Unless BoJack is looking through his search history… but that would be a whole problem unto itself if it was happening.</p><p>He sighs. “So, I take it this isn’t just some <em> thing </em>where, like, you wanted to tell me something mundane and you accidentally made me anxious over nothing.”</p><p>BoJack shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “We don’t have to this conversation right now.”</p><p>“We <em> can </em>have it right now, though.”</p><p>“I don’t want to stress you out. You look…” He raises one hand from the steering wheel and gestures vaguely. “...<em> Bad.” </em></p><p>Herb mock glares. “What, am I not sexy anymore?”</p><p>“What? Of <em> course </em> you’re still sexy! ...Well, you <em> are </em>nearly sixty -- Look, this isn’t about your sexiness or lack thereof. You’re, you’re kinda pale?”</p><p>“I am?” He looks in the rear vision mirror, but he can’t see a difference in his skin tone. “Look, let’s just -- let’s just get this over with. If you don’t tell me now, then I’ll just keep being anxious until we talk about it.”</p><p>“Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “And, by the way, I’m not angry.”</p><p>“Saying that makes me feel like you’re angry.”</p><p>“It shouldn’t! I’m <em> genuinely </em> not mad. I’m just … <em> confused, </em> really. There is <em> literally </em>no reason for me to be mad.” He takes a deep breath. “Sarah Lynn called.”</p><p>Herb stares blankly at him. “...That’s it?”</p><p>“Clearly that’s <em> not </em> it.” Another deep breath. “So, uh, they tried to call you first, but you didn’t answer, so they called me to see if I could get you on the phone. But I couldn’t, obviously, because you weren’t home, so I asked if I could just pass on a message, and they said, no, it’d be too long and I’d have to write it down and that’d be a whole thing. So then I asked if it was such a long thing that I couldn’t just remember it, and -- and apparently you asked them to pass on the contact details of a <em> pediatrician?” </em> He glances at Herb in the rear vision mirror; Herb is staring blankly out the window, completely <em> frozen. </em>“And, uh, like I said, I’m not mad, you’re allowed to do whatever you want, but -- why a pediatrician? Last I checked, you’re not a kid.”</p><p>There’s a long, painful silence.</p><p>“Okay,” Herb attempts, forcing a grin and looking at BoJack. “The thing is… I’m pregnant.”</p><p>“No, you’re not. You don’t even have a uterus. Also, I’m pretty sure you don’t need to pick a pediatrician until after the piece of shit gets born.”</p><p>Herb, in a parody of himself, places a hand on his stomach defensively. “How <em> dare </em>you call my child a piece of shit?”</p><p>“Herb, I’ve seen your dick.”</p><p>That’s what it takes to get Herb to break character. <em> “Seen </em> it?!” he echoes incredulously. “You’ve done more than <em> seen </em>it! You’ve sucked it, and jerked it off, and once removed a temporary tattoo of a video game character…”</p><p>“Still don’t know why you did that in the first place.”</p><p>“In my defense, I was drunk at the time. And at least it wasn’t a real tattoo!”</p><p>“Herb, quit changing the subject.”</p><p>Herb crosses his arms stubbornly, still trying to appear childish, trying to avoid being taken seriously. “Okay, I’m not pregnant. It was -- It was for a friend.”</p><p>BoJack narrows his eyes. “Which friend?”</p><p>“I don’t know.” BoJack gives him a look. “I mean, I don’t know their name! They’re -- they’re not really my <em> friend. </em>They’re just, uh, just some guy I met in the Walmart parking lot who started asking me for medical advice.”</p><p>BoJack stares at him like he can tell that this is <em> blatantly </em>untrue, and struggles to decide whether to humour him. “Can you describe them?”</p><p>“He looked … not normal … and he had clean skin.”</p><p>“Ah. I feel like I’m looking at him now.” He groans. “Can you <em> please </em>just be honest with me? Or at least a better liar?”</p><p>Herb shrinks in his seat.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” says BoJack. “I, I’m genuinely not angry. I know it <em> seems </em> like I am, because I get all weird when people don’t bend over backwards to include me in everything, but I’m <em> not. </em>So whatever it is, you can tell me, okay?”</p><p>There’s a long, ominous silence.</p><p>Herb shifts uncomfortably in his seat. BoJack stares at him cautiously. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to look at BoJack, but he can’t quite meet his eye -- or get close enough to fake it, for that matter. But, the look on BoJack’s face is genuinely caring, questioning but concerned, and he <em> wants </em> to believe that it’s all gonna be fine, that all those tweets he talked about making were just <em> harmless jokes, </em> and they weren’t very funny, but sometimes <em> everything’s funny. </em></p><p>Until it’s not.</p><p>He takes another deep breath. “I think I’m autistic.”</p><p>“...I don’t.”</p><p>All of his anxiety about the situation wasn’t enough to steel him against this possibility, and he can’t help the way his face falls at the rejection. But, he manages to hide it behind a grin quickly enough. “You don’t think I’m autistic, or you don’t think you’re autistic?”</p><p>“You. Clearly.”</p><p>“Well, it was a little unclear based on the syntax --”</p><p>“And it was <em> very </em> clear based on the context.” He frowns. “Are you doing that <em> thing, </em>where you argue over semantics to stall for time because you hate explaining yourself?”</p><p>“No,” says Herb meekly. “I just think that you should be more accurate --”</p><p>“Stop changing the subject.” He sounds a little annoyed by this point -- not <em> angry, </em> not even frustrated, but <em> annoyed, </em>as one might be when their computer complains about not being connected to the Internet and then has to be specifically prompted to connect to the Internet. “No offense, but -- what the hell makes you think you’re Rain Man all of a sudden?”</p><p>“It’s not <em> all of a sudden,” </em> says Herb defensively. “I’ve -- I’ve been looking into it for … a while. It just -- it makes <em> sense, </em> you know?” He looks up hopefully. “A, a few weeks back, I was looking at a symptoms list and it just … <em> clicked. </em> You know? It was like, so <em> this </em>is what’s been wrong with me this whole time.”</p><p>BoJack narrows his eyes. “Name <em> one </em>symptom of autism.”</p><p>“Shitty social skills,” he begins. “Difficulty making eye contact, sensory --”</p><p>“That was <em> clearly </em>a rhetorical question.”</p><p>Herb grins. “Well, having trouble recognising rhetorical questions is another symptom, so --”</p><p>“Got you!” Herb stares at him and he grins. “It wasn’t <em> actually </em>a rhetorical question.”</p><p>“...What?” </p><p>“You heard me.”</p><p>“Okay, now I’m just confused.”</p><p><em> “Maybe,” </em> says BoJack smugly, like he thinks he’s got a great comeback that Herb has yet to think of, “I was <em> testing </em> you. Did you think of that? I’m just thinking, if you just so <em> happen </em>to be conveniently displaying textbook symptoms of autism at the same time that you’re trying to convince me you somehow have autism, well…”</p><p>Herb’s face falls. “You think I’m making it up.”</p><p>“No. I think you’re wrong.” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “And, I think that you latched onto this when you first heard about it because you were depressed as shit, and now you don’t want to admit that you’re wrong because you have stupidly high standards for yourself like an idiot. But, it’s okay to be wrong.” He sighs. “This is why you have to be careful with self-diagnosis, Herb. I mean, I know sometimes it’s helpful, but sometimes -- if you get too attached to something before it’s confirmed --”</p><p>“That’s why I’m <em> not </em> getting too attached before it’s confirmed,” says Herb. “I haven’t told anyone yet, because I don’t want to have to go around telling everyone that I’m just a weirdo if it turns out I’m wrong, and -- and the only reason I told <em> you </em>is that you accidentally found out I was searching for a pediatrician, so I wouldn’t be self-diagnosed, remember? And, and --” His voice breaks. He hates himself for it. “And this is something that’s really important to me, and it’s been causing me a lot of anxiety lately, so -- so I’d really appreciate it if you could be a little more open-minded.”</p><p>“I <em> am </em> being open-minded. I’m just not letting my brains fall out.” He glances at Herb through the rear vision mirror and raises an eyebrow. “You literally <em> just </em> said that you agree you shouldn’t get too attached to this before we know for sure. And now it’s <em> really important </em>to you? Either you’re dead set on having a disorder, for some reason, or you’re not. You can’t have both.”</p><p>“What, aren’t I allowed to have <em> any </em> feelings about this? Any at all? Am I meant to just, like, read a symptoms list and <em> immediately </em> book an appointment, and then not think about it at <em> all </em>until after it gets diagnosed?”</p><p>“If.”</p><p>Herb frowns. “Huh?”</p><p><em> “If </em> it gets diagnosed. Are you listening to yourself? This is a half-baked theory, one that I only heard about a few minutes ago, and you’re talking about it like it’s already confirmed, but it’s not.” When Herb’s face falls, he relents a little. “Okay, yeah, you’re right, that was harsh. I’m sorry. But I’m trying to help you here. If you book that appointment and it turns out you <em> don’t </em>have autism, then you’re gonna be upset and have a whole identity crisis, and I don’t want that to happen.”</p><p>“...Of <em> course </em> I’m gonna be upset.” They hit a red light and BoJack turns to face him, frowning. “BJ, do -- do you think I just started looking into this because I thought it was <em> cool, </em>or something?”</p><p>“Uh, yes?”</p><p>“My <em> whole </em> life, I have felt like there’s always something <em> wrong. </em> With other people, with the world, with <em> me. </em> Nobody ever thinks the way I do, or asks the same questions, and I always feel like -- like I’m just <em> faking it. </em> Faking <em> being a person, </em> but I can tell that I’m <em> different. </em> And that’s made me feel so depressed over the years, because I never had an explanation for why I feel that way. Now, I might have an explanation.” He gives a hopeful look. “Of <em> course </em> I’ll be upset if it turns out, nope, never mind, I <em> was </em>just broken the whole time!”</p><p>BoJack sighs. “I thought that might be it.”</p><p>Herb frowns. “What?”</p><p>“You’re depressed. I get it now.” He runs a hand through his mane in exasperation. “And now you’re getting all meta-depressed because some idiot spent the last twenty years making you feel sorry for him because all of his childhood trauma made him a goddamn wreck, and now you’re asking yourself if you’re <em> allowed </em>to be depressed because you don’t think you’ve been through enough. So, you want to have a reason, and you latched onto the first thing you found.”</p><p>“I didn’t <em> latch on </em> to it,” says Herb defensively. “I spent a <em> lot </em>of time researching it before I even started seriously considering it. I’m not just looking into this because I want an explanation.”</p><p>“Then why <em> are </em> you?” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “Come <em> on, </em> Herb, you think I don’t know what’s going on here? If I got a penny every time I tried to tell myself that I was just <em> born broken </em>so I wouldn’t have to admit I was a mentally ill, traumatised alcoholic that had to actually put the work in to recover, I’d --”</p><p>“You’re already rich,” says Herb stiffly, crossing his arms.</p><p>BoJack groans aloud. “Oh, you’re pissed off now, aren’t you?”</p><p>“A little.”</p><p>“How can you <em> say </em> you’re not getting attached to this, and then get pissed off when I tell you you’re wrong?” He manages to spare a genuinely confused glance in Herb’s direction before he has to turn back to the road. “I mean, this -- this doesn’t make any <em> sense! </em> It falls apart if you think too hard about it. You show <em> no </em>symptoms of autism.”</p><p>Herb narrows his eyes. “Do you even know what the symptoms of autism <em> are?” </em></p><p>“Of course I do! I play a guy with autism in a movie, remember? He hates loud noises and he’s a math genius. You’re <em> shit </em>at math, and you have the TV up so loud I can hear it from the goddamn bedroom.”</p><p>“Oh, really?” He throws up his hands in mock surprise. “Well, I hadn’t thought of that, now, had I? I guess that disproves my whole theory!” He gestures in annoyance. “Since, you know, there is only <em> one </em> possible way to be autistic! That’s why it’s called autism <em> all exactly the same </em> disorder instead of something else like, I dunno, autism <em> spectrum </em>disorder! Everybody, let’s listen to the allistic guy who thinks he’s an expert because he skimmed the first Google result three months ago!”</p><p>BoJack tilts his head. “Allistic?”</p><p>“It means not autistic.”</p><p>“Oh, <em> come </em>on. You just made that up then!” </p><p>“I <em> did </em>not!” protests Herb. He takes out his phone and starts to turn his mobile data on. “It’s actually a very commonly used term in the autistic community --”</p><p>“What, so you’re in the ‘autistic community’ now?!”</p><p>“I just <em> happened </em>to see it! While I was researching! Aren’t I allowed to look at things?!”</p><p>BoJack narrows his eyes. “So, are you actually <em> researching </em> what autism <em> is, </em>or are you just looking at posts by unqualified randoms online?”</p><p>“Both!” He waves his arms around defensively. “I’m looking at the clinical stuff, the symptoms lists, to see if it actually makes <em> sense. </em>The randoms online help me to realise the different ways I could be showing symptoms without realising it! Do you really think that it would be the random allistics that know about autism?”</p><p>“Well, it sure as <em> hell </em> wouldn’t be the random autistics! And stop saying that. It’s not a word.” Herb frantically shows him his phone, which is displaying the Google results for the word ‘allistic’, explaining that it <em> is, </em> in fact, a word. BoJack ignores it. “You’re just saying that to shut me up. You’re getting into this <em> thing </em> where you decide only people with autism can talk, and then you decide <em> you </em>have autism, so you can say total bullshit and I can’t call you out.”</p><p><em> “When </em>did I do that?!” chokes Herb. “It’s -- It’s a word. Are words banned now?”</p><p>“And if only people with autism are allowed to talk about autism, then neither can you, because you <em> clearly </em> don’t have autism. I mean, think about it!” He removes a hand from the steering wheel to gesture defensively. “You’re turning <em> sixty </em>next year. You really think nobody would have noticed for sixty years if you had autism? If you’re supposedly autistic, why didn’t anyone pick up on it before now?”</p><p>“Oh, why didn’t anyone notice I had autism, as I was growing up, in the sixties and seventies?” He raises an eyebrow in mock confusion. “Gee, I dunno. Maybe I should have looked it up, on my 1960s Internet using my 1960s iPhone.”</p><p>“It hasn’t been the 1960s for, like fifty years!” His eyes widen. “Wow, that makes me feel old. Wouldn’t any of your more recent friends have noticed? Wouldn’t <em> I </em>have noticed?!”</p><p>Herb shifts uneasily in his seat, staring down at his knees. “I got bullied for it. As a kid.” He rubs his arm nervously. “Even if I didn’t know I was autistic, then, even if <em> they </em>didn’t know, they could tell I was weird, and -- and they hated me for it. I learned to hide parts of myself. And…” He looks up at BoJack, nervously. “No offense, BJ, but you’re not exactly the most observant guy.”</p><p>BoJack rolls his eyes. “I’d notice if you had autism.”</p><p><em> “Would </em> you?” questions Herb. After a pause, he mumbles nervously, “You didn’t notice when I was off my meds.”</p><p>“Oh, <em> come </em> on!” He throws up his hands in frustration. “I <em> suspected </em> it, but you always <em> said </em>you were still taking them! And you had plenty of reasons to be stressed, so I let it go. Besides, that was a few weeks, not the entire time I’ve known you!”</p><p>“Oh, so you think you <em> would </em> notice if something was <em> off </em>about me for the whole time we were together?” he questions, pointing a finger accusingly at BoJack. “You wouldn’t, I dunno, take until goddamned 2018 to realise I was depressed?”</p><p>The look that washes over BoJack’s face seems genuinely hurt, and <em> guilty, </em> and apologetic. “I’m not trying to minimize your struggles by saying this,” he says cautiously. “But, you weren’t a total <em> wreck </em>like I was. You had your shit together pretty well. What I mean is, it wasn’t obvious from the outside that you were struggling, and -- and I was dealing with my own shit! Not that that justifies it, but -- do you think I knew how to recognise the symptoms of mild depression when I was still in denial about my own incredibly obvious mental illness?”</p><p>Herb just raises an eyebrow and says, “So you didn’t know how to recognise the symptoms of mild depression, but you think you <em> would </em>know how to recognise autism?”</p><p>Herb can see it all just from watching BoJack’s face. It’s all so <em> typical. </em> Each expression has BoJack written all over it -- the split second of pure <em> shock </em> that he’s been beaten, immediately followed by a glance out the window that indicates that he’s been distracted by something, except it’s a little <em> too </em> obvious that something caught his eye, and without being able to see anything that might have, Herb has to assume it’s an act. He then spends an abnormally long time focusing on driving, focusing on the road, focusing <em> too hard, </em> with a look of intense concentration on his face that seems to indicate there being more on his mind than avoiding a car crash. And then, finally, there’s a small glint of determination in his eye, and it’s clear that now that he’s been beat, he is <em> not </em>backing down.</p><p>“Oh, so <em> I’m </em> the bad guy for not noticing you <em> might </em> have mild high functioning Asperger’s or something?!” he chokes. <em> “You </em> didn’t notice when I was <em> anorexic!” </em></p><p>Herb opens his mouth to defend himself, then closes it. As much as he’d like to point out that BoJack has started refuting completely different arguments to the ones he’s actually using, like he’s having some sort of Internet debate, he knows that BoJack, whether it’s justified or not, is <em> angry </em>right now, and there’s nothing he could say that won’t fuel his irrational anger. So, he waits until BoJack’s breathing has calmed down a little before he says, “We’ve already talked about how I didn’t notice your eating disorder. And, if it still bothers you, we can talk about it again, but this is not the time.” He takes a deep breath. “All I said was that it would be possible for you to not notice if I was autistic. I never tried to make you out to be the bad guy over it.”</p><p>“Yeah, well…” This is nearly always BoJack-speak for <em> I know you’ve proven me wrong, so now I’m pretending to change the subject while still arguing over the same thing that you’ve proven me wrong about. </em>“I don’t think this is healthy.”</p><p>“What isn’t healthy?”</p><p>“This! This whole thing. I already said, it’s the depression. You’re just <em> looking </em> for things that could be wrong with you so you don’t have to address the fact that you <em> feel </em>bad!”</p><p>“That’s not what I’m --”</p><p>“Yes, it is! You think there’s something <em> wrong </em>with you, so you’re looking for things that could be --”</p><p>“I don’t think there’s something wrong with me.”</p><p>BoJack throws up his hands in frustration. “Do you have autism or not?”</p><p>“I -- I <em> am </em> autistic,” says Herb defensively. “Or, I think I am. But I don’t think that’s something <em> wrong </em> with me.” His face falls. “Do <em> you </em>think it’s something wrong with me?”</p><p>“No, because I think this whole thing is stupid and delusional.”</p><p>“Yeah, but, let’s say, for the sake of the argument, that I’m right, well... if I <em> was </em>autistic…” He looks up at BoJack with wide, pleading eyes. “You, you wouldn’t think that was a bad thing, would you?”</p><p>BoJack doesn’t answer.</p><p>Herb swallows down any rejection he may feel and crosses his arms. “I think,” he says, quietly but viciously. “That you should probably accept that this is something you don’t know a lot about, and wait until after you’ve done a little research before you say anything else about it.”</p><p>“Oh, of course, I don’t know <em> anything, </em> do I?!”<br/>
<br/>
“About autism? No! <em> Why </em> would you know anything about autism?!” He gestures frantically. “What, because you play an autistic character in a movie? You know, Judah was the <em> only </em> autistic person they had working on that, and he’s not exactly a creative genius! And even if you <em> were </em> some kind of expert…” He hesitates. “Even if you <em> had </em> spent more than thirty seconds researching this, it wouldn’t give you the right to invalidate me, because allistic people don’t <em> get </em>to have an opinion on this.”</p><p>BoJack stiffens. “Stop calling me that.”</p><p>“What, allistic?” At his small nod, he adds, “It literally just means you’re not autistic, get a thicker skin.”</p><p>“I don’t <em> like </em>that it’s a word,” he explains tersely.</p><p>“Why not? It’s easier than saying ‘not-autistic’ all the time.”</p><p>“It’s -- it’s <em> stupid!” </em> he insists. “It’s not even a real word. And the only time I’ve <em> ever </em>seen it used --”</p><p>“The first time you heard it was ten minutes ago --”</p><p>“It’s <em> always </em> been used to tell me I don’t get to have opinions on things, because I’m <em> allistic. </em>It’s just a made-up word to silence people!”</p><p>“Well, <em> shit!” </em> yells Herb, frustration at an absolute peak. “I wish it <em> worked </em> -- shut the <em> fuck </em>up!”</p><p>And, he <em> does </em>shut up. He stares guiltily at the road, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, while Herb struggles to catch his breath from the outburst. Finally, Herb takes a deep breath and says, “You never answered my question.” </p><p>There’s a long, painful silence.</p><p>“...Pull over.”</p><p>BoJack frowns. “Huh?”</p><p>“Answer the question or pull over. I’m not going to stay in a car with someone who disrespects me.”</p><p>“Are you <em> kidding </em>me?” chokes BoJack.</p><p>“You hurt my feelings,” Herb practically snarls. “And if you don’t care enough about that to actually answer a simple yes-or-no question, then I don’t want to be in a car with you.”</p><p>BoJack looks at him like he’s unsure whether or not to continue arguing. After a long pause, he takes a deep breath, and pulls the car over.</p><p>Herb is genuinely <em> shocked </em>that he actually followed through, and he can’t stop the hurt from showing on his face. His heart skips a beat, and he has to consciously regulate his breathing so he won’t burst into tears on the spot. But, he manages to hold himself together for long enough to push the door open, climb out, and slam it shut behind him as he walks off.</p><p>BoJack, being BoJack, remains convinced he’ll get over it.</p>
<hr/><p>After a few hours of <em> fuming </em> and <em> sulking </em> and <em> waiting </em> desperately for Herb to come home with his head out of his ass ready to admit he was being stupid, the phone manages to get his heart pounding without even trying. He <em> wants </em>to believe that it’s Herb, asking to get picked up because he left his car at Judah’s house and then walked out on BoJack like an idiot, and he’s so desperate to believe it that he almost does. He accidentally-on-purpose forgets to check the caller ID, to postpone the moment when his hope is dashed, even if it’s just by a moment.</p><p>A moment later, his hope is dashed. The voice that talks is clearly Princess Carolyn. “Hey, uh… Just wanted to, uh, check in -- you had that <em> talk </em>with Herb, right? How’d it go?”</p><p>“Oh, that?” He tries his best to sound like it’s <em> no big deal. </em> “Well, uh -- I can’t really tell you the details, because, you know, Herb’s privacy, but, uh, let’s just say…” He groans. “...it absolutely did <em> not </em>go well.”</p><p>“...Oh.” She sounds a little disappointed on his behalf. “Uh, do you want to vent, or --”</p><p>“Nope, sorry. There’s no real way to talk about it without violating Herb’s privacy.” He was never actually <em> told </em> to keep it a secret, but he knows Herb well enough to know that he usually doesn’t like others knowing the details of his private life -- and besides, the <em> one </em>sensible thing Herb said was that he shouldn’t tell anyone until it’s confirmed, because BoJack thinks it probably won’t be confirmed. “Ugh, I need a distraction. Tell me about your date.”</p><p>“Oh, it’s -- it’s actually going really well.” She giggles. “We’re already rubbing off on each other. I keep talking like him without meaning to.” </p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“And he’s talking like me too! Just, just now, it was like we’d swapped brains, or something -- it was <em> him </em> that said being autistic means your life becomes defined by the <em> question--” </em> She laughs slightly at that word, and emphasises it as though it’s somehow of great significance. “The <em> question </em> of, <em> I do not understand why that is such a commonly used phrase.” </em></p><p>BoJack raises an eyebrow. “But that’s not actually a question.”</p><p>“I know! And the crazy part is, <em> I </em>had to point it out. And then he asked if it mattered! Talk about becoming like the people you hang out with most…”</p><p>“It’s just <em> stupid </em> though. You’d think god damned Rain Man would know what a question is? It wouldn’t exactly be hard to phrase it as a question. It’d just be, I don’t know, <em> why is that such a commonly used phrase?” </em></p><p>“Judah doesn’t actually phrase things as questions very often. But, yeah, that’s what it’d be as a question. Translate it from Judah-speak, and you get, <em> why do people say that?” </em></p><p>BoJack freezes.</p><p>A million images flash through his head. Images from a good thirty-five years of long rants about nothing to kill time, of inside jokes that had them both miming trumpets every time they dared ask a question, of those questions that quickly turned into jokes based on their sheer absurdity even though he wasn’t <em> quite </em>sure how serious it was when Herb first said it. And, of course, images of a comedy routine that he’s seen performed, in varying degrees of actually taking himself seriously, more times than he can count. </p><p>The routine was genuinely funny. </p><p>Everything’s funny, until it’s not.</p><p>“...Uh, BoJack?”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he mutters. His eyes widen. “Uh, the thing is, I went all quiet there for a moment, because I realised, I’m a massive asshole.”</p><p>There’s a pause. “You only just realised that?”</p><p>“In relation to a specific thing.” He sighs. “I have to go find Herb. Bye.” He hangs up.</p><p>Miles away, Princess Carolyn stares at her phone, frowning.</p><p>“...Was it something I said?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Nuclear Meltdown</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>BoJack and Herb deal with the aftermath of their fight.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He frantically digs through his mind for some way to get a hold of him. It takes him longer than he would like to admit to realise that the phone in his hand, the one he just used to talk to Princess Carolyn, can be used to talk to other people, as well. He quickly goes to his contacts list and taps on the one listed as a string of heart emojis, but when he calls him, it predictably goes to voicemail. “Ugh!” He scrolls through his contacts frantically, trying to find someone, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone, </span>
  </em>
  <span>who’s well-versed enough in his dickishness to put aside their own disgust with his behaviour and give him advice. Finally, he finds Diane’s name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She answers the phone, and immediately says, “What did you do </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I -- wait.” He pouts. “Is it really </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>obvious that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>something? It’s not like that’s the only reason I call you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” says Diane. “But Herb just texted to ask if he could vent to me, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah, okay, I did something. I screwed up, and now I need advice on how to un-screw up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool,” says Diane, in a tone that very clearly indicates that it’s not cool. “Uh, the thing is, I’m actually busy right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glares. “You’re not too busy for Herb to vent to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that’s what I’m busy doing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Oh.” His face falls. “Well, if you could just listen to me first, then --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why </span>
  </em>
  <span>would I prioritise </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>over the person you’ve hurt?” She sighs. “Look, uh -- I gotta go. I’ll call you back later, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But --” He sighs. “Yeah, sure. Go help Herb. Just -- tell him I’m sorry, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will.” After a pause, she adds, “I don’t know how much it’ll help, though. I think this is sort of a long, heartfelt, in-person discussion thing, not a ‘getting Diane to pass on a one-word message’ thing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raises an eyebrow. “Do you even know what happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I’m just guessing. Bye.” She hangs up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack has to admit that she has a point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scrolls through his contacts a little more, and attempts another few calls, but Herb ignores him again and Charlotte goes straight to voicemail. She’s the only person he can think of that knows both him and Herb well enough to be able to give useful advice based on absurdly vague recounts of what happened, and he would </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be absurdly vague because he still doesn’t know whether he’s allowed to tell people about this, and he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>to ask but </span>
  <em>
    <span>somebody </span>
  </em>
  <span>is ignoring his calls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, he takes a deep breath, and puts </span>
  <em>
    <span>Horsin’ Around </span>
  </em>
  <span>on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes him feel a little guilty -- okay, very guilty, that he’s just sitting on his ass uselessly, again, while goddamned </span>
  <em>
    <span>Diane </span>
  </em>
  <span>has to help </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>husband feel better after </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>decided to be a dickhead. But, what can he do? Herb probably wants nothing to do with him right now, justifiably, and he’s safe because he just texted Diane presumably not too long ago, and there’s nothing anyone can do, right now, while emotions are high and they’re both fuming a little. So, he sits down for twenty-two </span>
  <em>
    <span>hilarious </span>
  </em>
  <span>minutes before he does anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s actually closer to forty-five moderately funny minutes, because the first episode is no fun when he’s still upset and the second one isn’t much better. After that, he tries to call Herb again, and it predictably goes to voicemail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, he types up a message.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey Herb,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I know you’re probably still mad at me. I don’t blame you, really. And I get it if you don’t want to talk to me right now, or be in the same room with me, or generally acknowledge my existence. That’s fine. I’ll give you space. I just thought you should probably know that I’ve had a pretty major change of heart in the last few hours, and I regret a lot of the things I said during that fight. And a lot of the things I … didn’t say. I’m sorry I was an asshole again. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. Just, call me back, okay? I’m worried about you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb responds </span>
  <em>
    <span>far </span>
  </em>
  <span>too quickly, given the circumstances. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ok boomer.</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>He stares out the window vacantly, willing himself to keep it together, to not break down crying in front of the taxi driver, just to cap off this </span>
  <em>
    <span>wonderful </span>
  </em>
  <span>day. “Anywhere here’s fine,” he manages to choke out in a relatively even voice. He pays his fare, which is almost absurdly expensive because it’s late at night by this point, and steps out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The path is a hauntingly familiar one. He walked down here a long time ago -- and he knows consciously that it was just earlier this afternoon, but God it </span>
  <em>
    <span>feels </span>
  </em>
  <span>longer. Every step brings back a rush of memories -- that was where he stood when he sent the </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m outside </span>
  </em>
  <span>text, and there right outside the doorway was where he eagerly told Judah how great it was to come over, and that tiny little crack in the pavement was where he absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>froze </span>
  </em>
  <span>with terror upon finally reading BoJack’s text.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to move as quietly as possible, so Judah won’t notice his presence, if he’s home. He has a momentary freak-out when he fails to find his keys in his pocket, and then remembers that he’s been gripping them tightly for the last twenty minutes, leaving a series of suspiciously lock-shaped red marks on his palm and fingers. It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to find the car key, and a total of four tries to get it in the lock, because his whole arm is shaking uncontrollably. He manages to get into the car easily enough, and he sticks his key in the ignition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb doesn’t actually know if it’s safe for him to drive right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, what can he do? It’s late at night and he’s getting old, he can’t just walk to wherever he’s going. Even if he could, it’s not like he can just leave his car in Judah’s driveway indefinitely, and he’s already gotten the cab all the way here so it would be shitty to leave empty-handed. So, he starts driving. He wheels his way out of the driveway as quietly as he can, out onto the road, and just </span>
  <em>
    <span>drives </span>
  </em>
  <span>without really having a clue where he’s going or what he’ll do when he gets there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to regulate his breathing so he won’t cry, but his chest is just so </span>
  <em>
    <span>tight </span>
  </em>
  <span>that it’s easier to just slow down a little so he can wipe his eyes when traffic piles up, even if he’s very acutely aware of the fact that other drivers can probably see him. He’s fighting for a full breath, struggling to focus his eyes on the busy road, barely able to keep his grip steady on the steering wheel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, it’s so </span>
  <em>
    <span>quiet. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels like he’s in a horror movie, and the music’s just stopped. And there’s plenty of diegetic sound -- and it’s not called diegetic sound if it’s real life, God, he’s an idiot -- but trying to focus on it only makes him more painfully aware of the sounds that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>be hearing, but isn’t, and he doesn’t even know what those sounds </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>because they faded into the background before, but there’s quietness biting at him like an itch he can’t scratch, and he’ll do anything to fill the void.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>First, he tries just humming one of the many pieces Judah rambled about, but that reminds him of how fun it was to hang out with him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>before everything went to shit, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and that gets him thinking about the argument he just had, and he absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>cannot </span>
  </em>
  <span>replay those memories right now. So, he absentmindedly taps a generic rhythm on the steering wheel, but that’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>not loud enough </span>
  </em>
  <span>and before he realises it he’s escalated to just straight-up </span>
  <em>
    <span>hitting </span>
  </em>
  <span>the side of the wheel, and he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it until at one point he has to stop because there’s a bruise on his palm that sends a throbbing pain with each touch. So, he tries his other hand, except now he’s using his non-dominant hand and he’s already shaking badly enough, and weirdly, it takes him accidentally hitting the horn for him to remember that there are many ways to make noise in a car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except, now, he’s honking his horn for no reason, and that pisses everyone else the hell off, so they start honking back, and it’s nice to finally have a reasonable amount of noise but he can’t help feeling </span>
  <em>
    <span>targeted, </span>
  </em>
  <span>singled out. Logically, he knows most of the honkers are probably just doing it to join in with everyone else, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>feels </span>
  </em>
  <span>like they’re all staring at him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hating </span>
  </em>
  <span>him, hating him because he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>broken </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone who loves him will abandon him </span>
  </em>
  <span>and --</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s not true. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s hard for him to believe his own thoughts, but he keeps repeating that one until it sticks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s not true. You’re not broken. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He tries to take deep breaths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herb pulls over to regroup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He checks his phone. His hands are too shaking to even try to unlock it, but he can see most of the notifications without having to. A text from Diane assuring him that everything will be fine even though it clearly won’t be, BoJack’s missed call and subsequent text telling him that ‘ok boomer’ is not a great response to a genuine attempt at apologising, and his own daily reminder to take his medication.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which, obviously, he hasn’t taken. And, since he doesn’t have the emotional energy to face BoJack right now, he probably isn’t going to take any time soon. No wonder he feels like </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He sits there on the side of the road, in the complete middle of nowhere, and just tries to </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s almost impossible to do, because his chest is still </span>
  <em>
    <span>just so goddamn tight. </span>
  </em>
  <span>So, he sits there and tries to process his feelings, pick them apart one by one and find a solution so he can </span>
  <em>
    <span>calm the hell down. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels -- betrayed. Abandoned. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’ll be the betrayal and abandonment, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he snarks to himself. Except, it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>that, because memories of that </span>
  <em>
    <span>hellish </span>
  </em>
  <span>phone call with his mother some twenty-seven years ago are rushing through his head -- something brought those memories back. Parallels. Two people who he </span>
  <em>
    <span>trusted, </span>
  </em>
  <span>who loved him </span>
  <em>
    <span>unconditionally, </span>
  </em>
  <span>up until he broke those unspoken conditions, and now they’ve gone and -- </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No. Not BoJack. He just texted to say he’s sorry. He hasn’t abandoned you yet.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It still hurts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What did he do, after he called his mom and she disowned him? Well, first, he cried. For three hours. Not just </span>
  <em>
    <span>crying, </span>
  </em>
  <span>as in, he did whatever else he had to do with tears rolling down his cheeks and occasionally taking breaks to wipe his eyes and sob, </span>
  <em>
    <span>properly </span>
  </em>
  <span>crying. The sort of crying that has him wasting hours just curled up in a corner of the room, sobbing loudly and banging his head into a wall and generally feeling sorry for himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He used to do that when he was a kid. Throw a tantrum. And, the way people yelled at him for throwing a </span>
  <em>
    <span>tantrum </span>
  </em>
  <span>seemed to imply that it was something he was choosing to do, and at first he tried to say it wasn’t, that he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>could not cope </span>
  </em>
  <span>with today’s minor annoyance, and then he would get grounded. They became more convinced it was a conscious decision when he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>grew out of it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Except, he never </span>
  <em>
    <span>grew out of it. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He just got better at hiding it. He just got better at making sure he was alone when he broke down, or, failing that, learned to dial it down a little -- not completely repress it, because of course that just meant it would be more extreme when it eventually did come, but just stop himself from screaming or hitting things, so that he seems like he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>upset </span>
  </em>
  <span>instead of </span>
  <em>
    <span>crazy. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>meltdown </span>
  </em>
  <span>that time he completely broke down while telling BoJack about his mom, he just got very upset and cried a lot. He didn’t have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>meltdown </span>
  </em>
  <span>when he first moved in and BoJack, as part of the unnecessary </span>
  <em>
    <span>house tour </span>
  </em>
  <span>that was more of a joke than anything, showed him where the gun was kept, he just had some sort of weird panic attack or something. And he didn’t have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>meltdown </span>
  </em>
  <span>when they first decided to move the chest of drawers to the other side of the room and give the house a good proper clean, he just felt all </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird </span>
  </em>
  <span>for no good reason and couldn’t stop shaking and went all quiet and maybe cried a little when BoJack wasn’t looking, and he didn’t have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>meltdown </span>
  </em>
  <span>when BoJack went and overdosed being an idiot, he just had a perfectly justified anxiety attack and hit a wall because it </span>
  <em>
    <span>helped </span>
  </em>
  <span>in a weird way and then spent a long time desperately wanting to </span>
  <em>
    <span>move </span>
  </em>
  <span>but not understanding why, and he didn’t have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>meltdown </span>
  </em>
  <span>after he had a physical fight with his dad like an idiot, he just cried a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot </span>
  </em>
  <span>and got a bit incoherent and blabbery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No wonder nobody else picked up on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, this time, there’s no need for half-assed excuses and flimsy disguises and consciously dialing down his behaviour so the people around him assume he’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>regular </span>
  </em>
  <span>upset or maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>mental health issues </span>
  </em>
  <span>upst instead of </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh my God, what the hell are you doing, are you retarded? </span>
  </em>
  <span>upset. This time, he is having a complete and total </span>
  <em>
    <span>meltdown, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and there is nothing wrong with that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, it’s all well and good to tell himself that, but there are actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>several </span>
  </em>
  <span>things wrong with that. The main one, of course, being that meltdowns are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not fun. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The fact that </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone can see him </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>they must think he’s goddamn insane </span>
  </em>
  <span>is a pretty close second, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay. Deep breaths. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s getting a little easier to breathe now, but he’s still not </span>
  <em>
    <span>calm, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and a part of him still kind of feels like he never will be. After a second of hesitation, he shoves his hand into his mouth and bites down, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s something he’s always sort of </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to do in times of high stress, for reasons he could never explain and never wanted to, but he was always very acutely aware of the fact that even if he could get away with hitting some things and banging his head into a wall, </span>
  <em>
    <span>biting </span>
  </em>
  <span>would push him into </span>
  <em>
    <span>not normal </span>
  </em>
  <span>territory, so he never did, even when he was sure he was alone, because reminding himself that he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not normal </span>
  </em>
  <span>would remind him that </span>
  <em>
    <span>this is the part of you that you can never understand and can never escape from.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Except, now, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>can </span>
  </em>
  <span>understand it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he’s never wanted to escape from it so badly.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Deep breaths. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He manages to regain his bearings enough that he trusts himself behind the wheel -- which is a stupid phrase to use as shorthand for driving because </span>
  <em>
    <span>every </span>
  </em>
  <span>seat in a car is behind the steering wheel -- but, he doesn’t know where to </span>
  <em>
    <span>go. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He can’t go home, not yet, and he doesn’t know of any nearby hotels. He doesn’t even know where he really</span>
  <em>
    <span> is. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He recognises the streets but he can’t be sure where from. He just knows he needs to find </span>
  <em>
    <span>somewhere, </span>
  </em>
  <span>because it’s late at night and he feels like </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>So, he looks around, as much as he can without being too aware of everyone </span>
  <em>
    <span>seeing him, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and tries to figure out where he is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes him a minute to remember it. Yes, he’s been here before, once or twice, when visiting Lapine Place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He checks his phone. BoJack’s still screeching on about ‘ok boomer’ is not an appropriate response to a genuine attempt at apologising, and Diane’s texted, asking if it’s okay for her to call BoJack back and give him some advice. Hesitantly, he replies.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Diane, somewhat surprisingly, actually follows through on her vague promise to call him back. “So, Herb told me what happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gulps. “...And?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He told me not to tell anyone else, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack tilts his head to one side, frowning. “And you’re telling me that because … ?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just thought you should probably know. Since, you know, if I’d told my boyfriend about it, then his ass would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>jealous of all of the bullshit that came out of your mouth earlier tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very funny.” He groans. “Is Herb still mad at me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He replied to your apology text with ‘ok boomer’, what do you think?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh.” He starts pacing around his living room. “Do you know if there’s anything I can do to make him forgive me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forgive you?” repeats Diane dryly. “Have you tried, you know, giving him space and letting him deal with his feelings about this in his own time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, I know. How do I get him to forgive me </span>
  <em>
    <span>now?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t.” His pacing grows quicker as Diane continues. “You can’t rush forgiveness, BoJack. You don’t make him less angry by harassing him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, that’s nice, but I wouldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to harass him if he would just </span>
  <em>
    <span>answer the goddamn phone!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>After a pause in which Diane is silent, he takes a deep breath and stops pacing. “Okay, yeah, I just realised how bad that sounds. But, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>freaking out.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t freak out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, you’ve cured my anxiety.” He starts pacing again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” says Diane. She’s miles away, in Chicago, or maybe Houston by now, but he can almost feel her now -- a hand on his shoulder, gentle but </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>firm, pulling him back before he runs off to be an idiot. “I have anxiety too and it’s not an excuse.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He throws up his hands in frustration. “Excuse to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>what, </span>
  </em>
  <span>worry about people?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To be controlling! Herb can find somewhere to stay for tonight by himself. You can’t force him to come home. You’re not in charge of him. He’s an adult.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>apparently </span>
  </em>
  <span>now he’s …” The sentence dissolves in his mouth, turning to a mumble the second he latches onto the implications, but Diane is persistent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What were you saying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” he insists. “It’s, it’s not important, it was nothing, I --”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“BoJack.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>She sighs. “What were you going to say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Something shitty,” he finally admits. “I mean, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>me. What did you expect?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I try to </span>
  <em>
    <span>expect </span>
  </em>
  <span>you to not be a huge asshole. I get disappointed a lot, but … it’s worth it for the times that you live up to my expectations </span>
  <em>
    <span>because </span>
  </em>
  <span>you know there’s someone who believes in you.” She takes a deep breath. “Herb is an adult.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He might be an autistic adult, but he’s still an adult, and it makes you sound like a dick when you act like he </span>
  <em>
    <span>has </span>
  </em>
  <span>to get home when you want him to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If he’s autistic now, then he was the whole time you’ve known him. This isn’t a change, it’s just a realisation. You shouldn’t change how you act toward him because of this unless he asks you to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do </span>
  </em>
  <span>you?” she presses. “If you know that, why did you get so defensive when he tried to tell you about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” he answers. “Why does anybody do anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“BoJack, </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs. “Okay, okay, I’ll do that stupid self-reflection bullshit. Why did I get defensive?” Predictably, the first thing he comes up with is </span>
  <em>
    <span>because the whole thing is stupid and he’s being stupid, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and it takes him a moment to realise that </span>
  <em>
    <span>no, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that’s just him being defensive, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you idiot. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He hums for a moment, and thinks. “...Okay, yeah, you win.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Win?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>repeats Diane. “I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying </span>
  </em>
  <span>to win, I’m trying to help you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, you were right. I was an idiot. I was scared that if he was right, it meant things would have to change, so I went to all that effort and hurt him just so I could tell myself he couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>possibly </span>
  </em>
  <span>be right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pause. “Well, that was stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re telling me.” He sighs. “It’s just -- Herb has been </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>helpful to me, over the years. I’ve relied on him so much, and, and there were times when it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>too </span>
  </em>
  <span>much and I hurt him without meaning to, and that’s why I went to rehab, but -- but he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>been there for me, and I’ve needed him so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Diane sounds unamused. “...And?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And, I don’t know, I feel like -- like I shouldn’t do that. Lean on him, I mean. Is it really </span>
  <em>
    <span>fair </span>
  </em>
  <span>for me to expect him to support me, if he’s got his own shit going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Everyone’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>got their own shit going on. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Everyone </span>
  </em>
  <span>you talk to, all the time, they </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>have their own thoughts and feelings and everything else that you’re lucky if you see a glimpse of.” He opens his mouth to protest, but she cuts him off. “This doesn’t change things, okay? It doesn’t mean he’s suddenly incapable of supporting you, or you have to micro-manage everything he does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowns. “Then what </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>it mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” she answers. “I mean, I think you’ll have to ask him, won’t you? When he’s less mad. It probably means something different for everyone -- it’s called a </span>
  <em>
    <span>spectrum </span>
  </em>
  <span>for a reason.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah, You’re right.” He sighs. “I just, I wish I could get him to come home tonight. Even if he doesn’t want to talk, I -- I’m worried.” He hesitates. “I, uh. I probably shouldn’t tell you this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Then don’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but I told </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>something about you that I shouldn’t have told him after I visited you in 2019, so it’ll all even out. And, I’m freaking out here, and -- and I think that he sort of loses his right to privacy if he might be in danger.” He takes a deep breath. “Herb’s depressed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is?” She sounds more than a little surprised. “I didn’t realise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, he -- he doesn’t like to talk about it. But, he takes medication to deal with it, and the meds are still here. If he doesn’t come home soon…” He shudders. “I feel like he’s going to do something stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Diane considers this. “Why? Has he gone off his meds before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Once. Didn’t end well. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>totally </span>
  </em>
  <span>spiraled out of control.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pause. “...Immediately?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, okay, he was fine at first. It took a few weeks for me to even notice. But that wasn’t immediately after he had a huge fight with me! What if --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“BoJack.” Firm as always, she manages to snap him out of it and force him to breathe with the mere utterance of his name. “I don’t think you’re giving Herb enough credit here. You’re telling me he managed to pretend he was fine for </span>
  <em>
    <span>weeks, </span>
  </em>
  <span>even when he was in withdrawal, and you think </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>bad fight is going to send him over the edge into hurting himself? It’s not like you two have never had a big fight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but…” He sighs. “Yeah. You’re right. I should give him space.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna keep texting him to make sure he’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Do that. I’d do it myself, but … yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long, ominous silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, and, BoJack?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gulps. “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything’s gonna be okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BoJack nods along even though he’s not sure if he believes her.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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